


Trial By Patience

by AceOfShadows



Series: Trials of the Fellowship [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A lighter fic, Aragorn is very not impressed, Card game shenanigans, Contests, Cultural Differences, Dwarvish Culture, Elvish Culture, Gen, Gimli the Diplomat, Legolas is a young Elf, friendship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9437093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfShadows/pseuds/AceOfShadows
Summary: Sequel to Trial By Separation.January 29th 3019 (T.A.): The Fellowship have reached the safety of Lothlórien following the terrors they faced in the darkness of Moria. In much need of a rest, they agree to remain in Lothlórien for a short time, though not every member of the Company feels they should. As tensions rise within the Fellowship, as well as without, tempers will be tested, patience will be stretched to breaking points, and two members of the Company will find themselves on the first steps towards a friendship that will be renowned for Ages to come.





	1. Six King's Folly

A.N. Please be aware that over the course of this story, there will be many references to my other fics, Trial By Separation, and to Fragments of a Forgotten Truth. It is recommended that you read Trial By Separation before this one, but this story can stand alone from Fragments if necessary. Thank you, and enjoy Trial By Patience!

* * *

 

 

There was a beauty and a timelessness to Lothlórien that could not be denied. The towering silver trunks of the mallorn trees and the way the sunlight filtered down between the golden leaves, even the scattering of white and golden flowers that had enamoured Master Samwise - no, only a fool could say that Lothlórien was not beautiful. It had none of the yawning emptiness of Khazad-dûm, nor the heavy groaning weight of the Shadow that lay over Mirkwood. It was an Elven land, almost perfectly tailored to their every possible whim.

But there was something distinctly odd about Lothlórien, something that was out of place, even for a forest of the Elves. Something that I could not quite put my finger on in our first few days, but became glaringly more apparent as the days dragged by. Then it became, frankly, quite unsettling. The sun rose, rolled across the sky in the proper manner, and then set, the moon and stars glittered in the night sky to the delight of the Elves below, but it felt more like they were simply going through the motions, rather than keeping time in any sort of orderly fashion.

Living beneath the mountains as I have all my life, one quickly learns to keep track of the passing of days without the need of the sun's passage, but in Lothlórien, even with the sun blazing cheerfully overhead, time felt out of sorts. Aragorn had merely shrugged when I asked him about it, commenting only that this was simply the power of the Lady of Lórien, and we would all get used to it. This, in turn, had raised a few eyebrows among our Elvish guides (the ones that knew the Common Tongue that is), who had informed me in no uncertain terms that the Elves of Lothlórien felt there was absolutely nothing amiss with time in Lothlórien, thank you very much. They'd lived their entire lives here after all. If our Company's own Elf had noticed anything out of the ordinary, he was keeping it very much to himself, much as he often did.

It was of no surprise to me to learn that my theory had been right all along: Elves of any kind might be strange, but wood-elves were the strangest of all.

Between this unsettling timelessness feeling and the fact that the Lothlórien elves for the most part did not speak any tongue but their own, - who in this day and age could not speak the Common Tongue? Only the Elves. - it left our Company mostly to our own devices and rather bereft of recreation. And as we were not all Elves, easily amused by the flights of birds or the swaying of leaves, boredom quickly set in with a vengeance. In our defence, none of us had packed with the idea of an extended stay anywhere in mind - indeed, we had packed only the essentials for the long gruelling road ahead, always aware that our packs might need to be abandoned at the least provocation should we need to flee from a fight we could not win. Frodo's safety was the priority after all, we could not afford to be getting in too many fights, especially when half our Company were untrained in the ways of war.

So when stories faltered and the memory of Gandalf grew too heavy between us and the emptiness of Moria tugged at my heart, when the silences began to stretch uncomfortably long, a pack of cards had appeared. Among my people, boredom is all but unheard-of, for we Dwarves are patient and tireless with a task to hand, and we are rarely without a task. But in Lothlórien, where the days stretched too long, I will readily admit that I was thoroughly and most heartily bored. We fell upon the lure of entertainment like ravenous wolves, never questioning where the cards might have come from.

It quickly became the highlight of the day, in those long hours of the afternoon, when Aragorn was so often busy debating the path ahead with Frodo (who, as always, was accompanied by Samwise, bless him.), the cards were shuffled and games began in earnest between myself, Boromir, Merry and Pippin. We thought little of what was happening around us, of how loud and boisterous we might become as the stakes of the games were driven higher. Not that we had much for wagering, mind, but we could bet secrets, dares and future claims. We argued over rules, over regional variances and illegal plays, and we taught each other games we'd never heard of - Boromir had one rather peculiar game that, for the life of him, he could never properly explain. Ultimately, it seemed to boil down to the idea that after a certain amount of turns where cards passed back and forth between the players and the discard pile, whoever was left at the end of the set holding a certain card was out. But he could not explain to us precisely why this particular Queen card had been chosen, whom she might represent in Gondorian history, or even what she might have done to earn the scathing epithet of the "Scabby Queen." _Men_. Almost as bad as Elves in their peculiarities.

One afternoon, during a particularly vicious game of Six Kings (Merry was up five games on all of us, and I was quite determined to make him pay for it), a voice spoke from above, politely curious:

"Might I play?"

I tipped my head back, straining to see into the branches that mazed above our heads; there, reflecting in the gloom, I saw Legolas' bright blue eyes reflecting cat-like at us as he sprawled across a branch. He reminded me sharply of the large mountain cats that prowled near Ered Luin, all wild predator grace, prone as they were for lounging in the sparse mountain trees.

"If you wish," Boromir replied, beckoning him down, without so much as a hint of hesitation. "Have you played Six Kings before?"

The Elf dropped down to the earth with a soft _thud_ , shaking his head. "I have not. But I have been watching you all for the last few games. I am certain I will manage."

"Then we shan't go easy on you." Merry's grin was fairly wicked as Legolas settled down between Boromir and himself. I found myself chuckling; the young Hobbit had already proven himself to be a fairly uncompromising player. He took great risks, gambling where a more sedate player would hedge, and he had no compunctions about taking advantage of a misplaced card, even against Pippin. The only way to slow him down was to play a game he was more unfamiliar with, and even then, he gambled high and won often.

It was bad manners to take advantage of a player that was unfamiliar of the rules of a game, and even worse to take advantage of one who had never played before, but that afternoon, I was not feeling particularly charitable towards the Elf. Boromir was more kind, nudging him politely whenever his attention wandered too far away from the matter at hand, especially since his turn followed Legolas'. I would have taken my turn anyway, if only to have the chance to beat Merry for a change. I was so close to a full court, so close to wiping the smug smirk from the young Hobbit's face. I just had to be patient and wait for that Queen card to appear. I could hedge my bets and break up my hand into two smaller runs, but a full court of seven cards would definitely win me the game.

"Legolas, it is your turn," came the familiar refrain. I snorted in disgust, for Legolas' attention was nowhere near the card game, instead, he was staring off into the trees on the other side of the clearing. I swear, if he was holding the card I needed...

"Is something the matter?" Pippin asked, craning his neck to try and spot whatever had caught Legolas' flighty attention.

Instead of responding, the Elf gently set his cards down - facedown, regrettably- and got to his feet. I watched him, unwilling to admit my curiosity as his face grew hard and his eyes flinty. Nearby, Aragorn had also gotten to his feet, his eyes flitting between Legolas and the trees. As I watched, Aragorn's hand crept towards his sword hilt. Were we to be attacked, here in the heart of an Elven city? Surely not. Surely the Lady Galadriel would never allow it. Perhaps the Elf was only imagining things, Mahal knows, his mind wandered often enough.

" _Gi suilanthon_ ," Legolas called out, to no reply. " _Tolo, govano ven_." And again no reply came. The Elf seemed to bristle a little and barked out several more Elvish sentences so rapidly I could not even hope to follow, even if I could speak the overly complicated language. The trees rustled once and then were still. Not Legolas' imagination after all. I huffed.

And almost immediately, all annoyance faded from Legolas' face as he sat back down and lifted his cards again. Aragorn chuckled heartily as he too, sat back down to his conversation with Frodo.

"What was all that about?" I demanded, despite my earlier insistence that I was not curious at all.

Legolas gave an infuriatingly casual shrug. "There were Galadhrim, there," he pointed unnecessarily. "Watching us. They were not, it seems, inclined to join us, but instead preferred to hide in the trees and make impolite comments. So I asked them to leave." He picked up his cards again and blinked owlishly at them, as if he'd expected them to have changed while his attention was elsewhere - he was right to do so, unfortunately, for Merry would have switched something out, had his attention not also been consumed by the small drama that had just unfolded.

"Oh. Yes. I believe now is when I say 'Full court'?" Legolas remarked nonchalantly, laying out his cards as if he had not just won the game. Merry's cry of shock was laced with annoyance; he hadn't seen it coming, and I'd guessed a few turns ago that he'd been playing for a String of Kings, only to be foiled now at the last moment by the now-smug Elf. I could not help but laugh as he inspected Legolas' cards thoroughly, looking for some small flaw he could use to invalidate the win.

When he did not find one, he groaned, tossing his own cards aside in dramatised despair. Pippin laughed and clapped his cousin on the back. "Cheer up, Merry. You won the last five games. It was time someone bested you."

Merry's slowly gathering glower dissipated immediately at the subtle reproof. "You're quite right, Pip." He grinned at Legolas, half-apologetic. "I thought you said you'd never played before!"

"Ah." Now it was Legolas' turn to be apologetic. "I have not played _Six Kings_ before, no. But I have played Hart's Folly many times, and it is very similar it seems. There were some differences in the rules, I noticed, but not so many. I was more worried that I would not remember how to play, it has been a long time since I played with my _lumornoss_."

"What is a... _lumornoss_?" Pippin piped up, mangling the Elvish word, even to my ears. The youngest Hobbit was many things, but talented with languages was not one of the them. Legolas, to his credit, did not wince.

" _Lumornoss_ is..." The Elf's face scrunched in confusion as he grasped for an explanation. He looked to Aragorn for assistance, but he was too deep in conversation with Frodo to notice. "It is...family? But not necessarily those related to you?" He shook his head, grumbling to himself in Elvish. "I will start again. There is you, the individual. And there is your _iârnoss_ , your family that is blood. Your mother, father, brothers and sisters. You follow?"

Heads nodded all round and the Elf gave a relieved sigh. "Good. But in Silvan, there is more, you, your _iârnoss_ , you are part of a _lumornoss_ , you would say...family shaded by trees? It does not translate well." He shook his head. "Many living together, as one unit. Perhaps...thirty? Sometimes more together in a _lumornoss_ , not always blood-related. We protect and care for each other, laugh together, raise children together." Legolas looked around at the group, hoping to see understanding in our faces, I guessed.

"But...I thought you were Sindar?" Boromir asked, almost hesitantly. Legolas had once tried to explain the differences between the different kinds of Elves to him, but the explanation had gotten somewhat lost in translation. I freely admit that I had not followed the conversation one whit that day, and I suspect Boromir had not either. There were Elves like Lord Elrond, and then there were wood-elves like Legolas - that was as far as I understood and as far as I cared to, in all honesty.

Legolas grinned, but the smile never reached his eyes. "I am both. My _adar_ is Sindar, my _naneth_ was Silvan. For a time, I was raised in her _lumornoss_ , among my mother's family, under the trees. I did not set foot in my father's palace for many years, unlike my brothers, who were raised there."

"You have brothers?" Boromir asked, his expression brightening. He had a younger brother himself, I knew and delighted in talking about him whenever the conversation turned that way. I watched Legolas out the corner of my eye, waiting to see if the Elf would react true to form. Immediately, Legolas' expression shifted, closing down and withdrawing from the conversation. He did _not_ like discussing himself. Every time the conversation turned personal, he became completely silent, almost to the point of not participating the conversation at all. It was extremely irritating; how were we supposed to trust someone that we knew almost nothing about?

In one swift, fluid motion, Legolas got to his feet again. "I... _had_ brothers," he muttered. "Please excuse me. Thank you for the game."

And then, before any of us could respond, he was gone - slipping past us into the trees, where he was quickly swallowed by the shadows.


	2. A Wander In The Woods

The Elf slunk back the following morning, just as a particularly heated argument between Aragorn and Boromir was beginning to reach dangerous new heights. The four Hobbits had sensibly excused themselves as the tensions had stirred back into life, but I, unwilling to abandon a hot breakfast for change, had remained. I had foolishly thought, the two Men might be willing to accept mediation in their feud this time - oftentimes before, they had accepted Gandalf's rebukes and settled their differences fairly quickly.

This time, I confess, I had no idea what prompted their bickering to escalate. Perhaps a prideful boast from Boromir had riled Aragorn's slow anger, or perhaps the opposite had been true, that one of Aragorn's off-hand dismissals of Gondor had enraged Boromir. Whatever the matter had been, it made little difference now - the two were circling and snapping at each other like two water-drenched cats, neither willing to back down.

The fickleness of their relationship often gave me pause, for sometimes Boromir would behave as though the two Men ought to be as close as brothers, other times he seemed to resent Aragorn and would do anything to work against him. I will admit, I found it very odd, albeit understandable - Aragorn represented a major change for Gondor and for Boromir's future, and Boromir had not yet worked out how he would fit into things once Aragorn was King. He had trained his entire life to be Steward of Gondor one day, and effectively be its ruler, two months was nowhere near enough time to have completely adjusted to the idea that someone else was likely going to be in charge instead. Boromir only wanted what was best for Gondor, naturally, and he wasn't sure that Aragorn was what was best.

Aragorn, meanwhile, seemed uncertain of his place as Gondor's future King, and had little tolerance for pride. He was a steady, careful Man, used to a life in the shadows, out of the notice of most. This was a big change for him too, and I could not help but be curious as to how he would handle life in the public eye as King.

Unfortunately, things between them had only grown worse since Gandalf's death.

"They are fighting again?" Legolas' voice was pitched low as he crept to my side, his eyes fixed on the arguing Men. I glanced at him briefly, surprised to see curiosity plain across his face, as well as concern.

"Aye." I nodded, giving my cooling porridge a discontented prod. "They've been at it for about an hour."

"What is it this time?"

I shrugged, forcing myself to eat another spoonful. "With these two, who can tell anymore? Though if it turns out that Boromir has slighted the Lady Galadriel again, I shall be having polite words with him myself."

"Truly?" An elegant eyebrow arched and I bristled in response.

"Yes, truly. Is that so hard to believe?" I bit off my words before I could say anything more in hasty irritation. Keep your temper, Gloin's son, I chided myself, there was no need for more angry words in this clearing today. Boromir and Aragorn's argument must be infectious. The Elf, meanwhile, settled down next to me - too close, I shuffled away just a little - and watched the argument unfold with wide eyes. I huffed and carried on eating, not caring enough to chide him for such blatant rudeness. Just who had raised this wildling?

It was only as I was scraping the last dregs of porridge from my bowl that he finally spoke again.

  
"Would you like to go for a walk?" He asked, without preamble, startling me. I turned to stare at him, wondering if, perhaps, the Elf had finally lost what little mind he'd started off with.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A walk." He frowned, evidently quite confused by my disbelief, and hastened to continue. "Around the forest." He hesitated, looking rather uncomfortable. "I merely offer because you have seemed quite...bored this last week. I have found Lothlórien to be quite interesting to explore thus far and thought, perhaps, you might like to join me today. It would be a shame if you did not get to see Lothlórien while you are here, even if it is winter." He broke off, turning to me with wide eyes. "You do not have to accept. I, ah, understand that you do not like my company overmuch...but perhaps, it would be better than remaining here." He gestured to the arguing men, who still had not finished with their disagreement, nor, indeed, had they acknowledged our presence.

I stared at him in surprise, the bowl in my hands forgotten. I cleared my throat to hide my embarrassment - not only had Legolas noticed my boredom, but he was willing to trail around Lothlórien just so that I might less bored for a while. And besides that, he was here offering, despite our shared mislike of each other? Had I, somehow, misjudged him?

"I, uh," I scrambled for words, thoroughly bewildered by this out-of-character move. "I would like that. Yes. Thank you."

Legolas immediately brightened, perking up immensely. "Good. That is good. Shall we go?" He all but leapt to his feet, quivering almost, like a deer sensing danger.

"Now?"

"Why not now?" Again, he tilted his head, confused. "Is there something else you must do first?" He looked so bewildered by the idea that we might not go _right now_ , it was almost like dealing with a child. I sighed, shaking my head. _Elves_. Blasted baffling Elves.

"No. No. Let's go now, before we get dragged into Aragorn and Boromir's mess."

*.*.*.*

"Will you slow down?" I huffed between breaths, pride finally giving way as I struggled to keep up with far taller Elf. He looked back at me, and then stopped completely, as if surprised by how far I had fallen behind.

"My apologies, Master Gimli," he said. Well, at the very least he sounded sincere. "I was just wondering where it might be best to explore today."

"Explore?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't know your way around?" Surely he'd been here before, he was a wood-elf after all, and his homeland was not exactly far away.

"Did you not hear me when we crossed the borders of the forest? It has been long indeed since any of my people travelled south to fair Lothlórien, and longer still since they came north to us. Too much darkness separates our lands, and it is dangerous now for us to travel southwards, past Dol Guldur." He gave a shudder and then pressed on, resuming his walk at a much slower pace that was far easier to keep up with. "There are many new things in Lothlórien that I have not seen before. They do not live in _lumornyss_ as we do in Mirkwood, so there are many parts of the woods that are not inhabited. These have so far been the more interesting parts to explore, so we will head that way I think."

I shrugged and allowed him to lead the way. There was little objection I could raise in any case - a forest was a forest in my mind, and anything was better than the endless monotony of the clearing. Though a part of me did wonder why we were heading in such a direction - did Legolas not wish to spend time with his fellow Elves? He grew cagey when I eventually directed that question towards him.

"It is not so much that I do not wish to see them," he finally replied, stopping to stare up at the branches of a tree. What he saw in them that fascinated him so, I hadn't the foggiest - this was the fourth such tree he'd stopped to stare at in the last hour, and I usually used the time to have a small snack or a drink of water. "It is more that...we are quite, hmm, different? Many of the Elves here are far older than I."

His answer was typically Elvish - both yes and no, as the saying went. I could make little sense of his answer, but knew that I was unlikely to get anything further from him.

Our "walk" went on for several hours longer without further pause before I finally managed to remind Legolas that I did, in fact, need to rest on occasion. It was not because the walk was by any means particularly strenuous, more than my guide was as distractible and flighty as the wind itself, leaving me to scramble after him as we were forced to backtrack or meander away from the paths following whatever whim had suddenly grabbed his attention.

He conceded to the break with little objection, finding us a nice shaded spot out of the way of the afternoon winter sun. At the very least, we could be grateful that Lothlórien did not seem to suffer biting winter winds and snow. Instead, one could almost mistake it for a pleasant afternoon in early spring. I sighed, stretching out my legs and letting stiffened muscles relax, even as Legolas watched me owlishly, cross-legged and straight-backed, head tilted to one side. Curiosity rolled off him in waves. I was beginning to sense a pattern. Ever since his and Frodo's near-disaster on Caradhras, the Elf had shown a completely different side - no longer aloof and distant, uncommunicative and remote, now he was engaging and eager and always, always staring. It seemed that he'd built up a veritable deluge of questions in the two months that the Fellowship had been together, and now they were being unleashed. One had to wonder just _what_ Frodo had said to him on the mountain slopes.

"Go on," I sighed, bracing myself for the flurry of questions to come.

"I shall endeavour to restrain myself," the Elf said, in what I was slowly coming to realise was his attempt at a teasing tone. "I was merely curious-"

"Are you ever not?"

Legolas blinked, startled at my interruption, and paused as if to consider the question. "No, now that you ask. There are many things in the world I do not know, and have not had the chance to learn about. I have learned much since leaving Rivendell, though my father will be dismayed that most of it pertains to the doings of Men and Hobbits. But I had a question for _you_."

"I apologise." I waved a hand to urge him on. "Do continue."

"Before the Fellowship, before the Quest...what did you do, exactly?" He gestured vaguely, as if searching for a word. "For a job, or work, or to keep you...not bored?"

I laughed, though I was thinking his question over seriously. "I was working for my father, who owns a merchant's caravan. It was a good job, and I have learned a great deal from him: how to run a business, how to negotiate and barter and establish trade..." I sighed wistfully, remembering the feeling of the wagons rumbling beneath me, of my father's soothing voice explaining the safest trade routes, and how to properly store the various goods and stock we traded.

Legolas' eyes were shining with enthusiasm. "So you have seen many places? What did you trade in? How old were you when you were allowed to accompany him on trades?"

I lifted a hand to forestall his questions, smothering a laugh. And abruptly I realised, I was laughing. I'd never felt so at ease in the elf's presence, indeed in _any_ elf's presence. "Hold your gems there, princeling. Question for a question, I think. It's only fair." Legolas pulled a face but did not object. "What did _you_ do? I expect you did not just lounge around your palace being fed berries all day."

Legolas shrugged. "I led patrols for the most part, keeping our borders safe, purging spiders and orcs and other such dark creatures. Sometimes, I would speak with my father and his advisors on matters of the kingdom, but not often. It was not something I was ever comfortable with. Nor was I ever comfortable simply _lounging_." Another attempt at teasing, he was improving. "Now back to my question: What did you and your father trade in?"

"All sorts of goods - furs, gems sometimes, or metals. Sometimes we would collect goods from many of our craftsmen and then take them to towns of Men to sell--"

" _Mae govannen, Thranduilion,_ " a smooth elven voice cut over me, as if I had not been speaking. A group of Elves were approaching from the shadows of the trees, all with warm friendly smiles for Legolas, and not a single scrap of interest in me. Annoyance flared hot in my stomach and I fought to ignore it. Legolas' gaze flicked briefly away from me, and then settled back, meeting my gaze squarely.

"Continue, Master Dwarf. You would take the goods to Men to sell and...?" He prompted, but the enthusiasm was gone from his eyes. The same anger that burned low in me had turned his eyes to ice - he was no more pleased about this interruption than I was.

The lead Elf, the one who had spoken before, interrupted again just as I opened my mouth. His tone seemed more than a little hurt, though his attention never wavered from Legolas. Finally, Legolas gave an exasperated sigh, not even turning as he chattered out a rapid reply in Elvish, gesturing between the group and ourselves.

"My apologies, Master Gimli," Legolas explained. "These Elves-" he gestured needlessly at the group. "-were simply wondering if I might join them for an evening meal. I profess, I had no idea it was so late, but I was just telling them that I was busy and we would have to rejoin the Company soon. I regret they do not speak the Common Tongue, so I will have to translate, as I was just explaining."

I nodded, trying to hide a small smile. "I see."

The other Elves bristled a little, speaking quietly amongst themselves and then directed more of their conversation towards Legolas, their tones overly friendly and coaxing. All of them had turned, ever so slightly, so as to continue to exclude me, but at this point, I was rather enjoying watching Legolas play them - to his credit, the Elf never once got annoyed, pausing frequently to translate for me and to translate any of my own comments. Though I did recognise one or two words, most of the untranslated parts of the conversation went over my head - I got the feeling that in those parts, less than flattering words were being exchanged. Eventually the Lothlórien Elves gave in, and bid us, mostly Legolas, farewell before disappearing back into the trees.

Legolas gave a world-weary sigh, slumping slightly. "I apologise, Master Gimli."

"What for?"

The Elf waved an absent hand. "That. Them. They were very rude and would not leave."

"Ah. Well that was not your fault, Master Elf. That was their doing, not yours." I shrugged. "It cannot be helped." That coaxed a small smile from our Company's Elf, though I would never admit that it pleased me. "Shall we return to the Fellowship now? As you said, it is growing late - and hopefully by now Aragorn and Boromir have ceased bickering."

*.*.*.*

The days that followed fell into a pattern of sorts, strange though it seemed at the time. Legolas would disappear for a few hours, sometimes returning to speak and eat with the rest of us, and then sometimes he would vanish as quickly as he'd come, and other times, he would invite me to join him, enthusing over something new he'd found in the forest that he wished to show me. It thoroughly baffled the others, and myself as well. But still, I found that I did not want to refuse.

So off we went, walking, often avoiding the other elves as best we could. It was almost maddening at times, for Legolas seemed to have little to no concept of _time_ : hours and days blurred seamlessly together for him. If we paused, always at my insistence for he would forget otherwise, I would have to fend off his seemingly endless curiosity. I would only have a moment's peace if he ran out of questions, albeit that was a rare occasion, or if his easily distracted attention was taken up by something else...like a squirrel, or the stars or a tree whispering to him, or other such nonsense, and then I would fade from his awareness.

Thus, when he did not show up for three days, I was largely unconcerned. Likely chance was that the elfling had fallen down a hole and had started chatting to earthworms rather than doing anything about it. Mahal only knows, he spoke to everything else in this forest. But as the third day ended with no sign of him, Aragorn began to grow uneasy. Though we all knew nothing was likely to have happened to him, under the protection of the Lady Galadriel, still, when Aragorn grew uneasy, it was enough to give any sensible being pause.

Of course, why Aragorn thought _I_ was the best person to go looking for our wayward Elf was beyond me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing update day yesterday! Please enjoy the next chapter of Trial By Patience, and thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far.
> 
> For those of you waiting on FoFT or Patior, I'm sorry, but I am trying to stick to my usual update schedule, which is one new chapter every Monday and Thursday.


	3. On Thinnest Ice

Three hours later and I was most certainly lost, frustrated and ready to curse out the next Elf I saw, diplomacy be damned. Even after I'd managed to mangle a begrudged request for assistance from some very amused, stubborn, obviously Dwarf-hating Elves, who between them did not apparently speak a lick of Westron - _legendary courtesy of the Elves indeed!_ \- absolutely nothing looked familiar and there was no sign of the wayward princeling. I was becoming quite convinced that some of those Elves had deliberately misunderstood what I'd asked of them, sending me off to wander this blasted forest in the wrong direction.

I was going to wring the princeling's neck when I found him; Aragorn's too, for that matter, for it was his fault that I was out here in the first place, wondering how I might find my way back to the Fellowship as the day grew dark. I was certainly _not_ going to ask another Elf for help again today!

I finally found him well after night had fallen. By the river, of all places, lounging on a low-lying branch that overlooked the water. The bright moonlight and soft silver lamps illuminated the scene enough for me to spot him there, or else I might have missed him or mistaken him for another Elf. But there are not so many blond Elves even in these woods, so I felt safe in assuming it was not someone else. He lay upon his back, eyes fixed on the stars peeking through the branches above him, one foot dangling lazily just inches from the water. He was singing softly, and a bottle of wine was clutched loosely in his hand.

"So there you are," I huffed, approaching the tree.

"Gimli?" He sat up, pushing the loose hair back from his face with a clumsy hand. I was surprised that he'd actually responded, that he was aware enough to even notice me calling out to him, especially when he had stars to look at. What was more surprising was the definite slur in his speech.

"Are there that many other Dwarves in this maze you call a city that you might mistake me? Aye, it's me." I squinted up at him and tugged on his dangling foot. "Come down from there, you bloody sparrow. I want to talk, not get a crick in my neck."

Legolas gave a dramatic sigh and slid down from the branch, all irritating grace, and immediately resumed his indolent sprawl across the grass. I raised an eyebrow at his antics, looking down at him before sitting down cross-legged beside him. It was hardly comfortable, but it's not like I was expecting pillows and chairs to appear from nowhere.

"So. Just how drunk are you?" I watched him carefully, suppressing a snort of laughter at his abruptly offended look.

"I am not drunk," he muttered defensively. "Not yet anyway." He stared down into the half-empty bottle with an almost mournful look. I plucked the bottle from his grasp, ignoring his cry of protest, something I would never have been able to get away with if he had been sober.

"You've clearly had more than enough already," I told him, keeping the wine out of his halfhearted reach, and then took a drink of it myself.

An unexpected chill ran down my throat, overwhelmingly sweet, a veritable flood of honey and berries and starlight. Just how the Elves managed such a flavour I would never know. Nor would I ever admit to liking it. My head spun with the intensity of it and I could hear Legolas laughing himself hoarse at my expression, bright Elven laughter ringing out across the still night.

"Yes, yes, laugh it up, princeling," I eventually choked out. "What kind of wine is this?"

"I haven't the faintest." Legolas chuckled. "It was given to me as a gift, claiming it was First Age wine. I couldn't exactly say no, and if it is First Age, then it should not go to waste. Nor could I bring it back to the Fellowship, it would be too strong for most of you, though Aragorn would disagree with me."

"It...isn't bad." I begrudged, taking a second far smaller drink. "So, where have you been hiding of late? Following a butterfly?"

"I was with some of the Galadhrim. They were...quite adamant that I not leave until they'd finished making their point. "

"It took them three days to make a point?"

Legolas sat up abruptly. "Three days?" At my affirming nod, he scowled and muttered an Elven curse, one I'd heard him level at Aragorn after the man had reset his dislocated shoulder after Caradhras. "Three days," he spat. I half-expected his hair to bristle like a hissing cat. "If I had known that, I would have stormed out far sooner."

"And how exactly did they manage to rile you so?" I'd never seen the Elf so angry, not even in response to some of my more-pointed jabs at him - some of which, I confess, I did regret later.

"They wished to pass on some advice. Unwanted advice." Legolas lay back once more, hair spilling silver-gold across the grass. "They thought, think, that I am growing too fond of you. They have seen us walking, and speaking, and on occasion laughing and they think it dangerous. Not just you but all the Fellowship. Elves and mortals should not mix, they told me, it is far more dangerous for our kind. In the end, we are left only with pain." He snorted. "They have little else to do here but talk and debate issues and think themselves wise when they reach the same conclusions they have always reached. And they think me little more than an Elfling who had never strayed from his lumornoss. As if I am wandering through the world with closed eyes and ears to facts I do not like."

I stared at him, taken aback. There were times when I'd thought him stiff and cold, and finding out he was the son of Thranduil had only made it worse in my mind - he was a Prince, aloof and ill-mannered, refusing to speak to mere mortals, save when it suited him. Our last few days together, no, this last week, since he and Frodo had been lost on Caradhras, I'd seen a different side of him. I'd thought this before, but it still surprised me, every time. I had never thought that I might grow...fond of him. But here he was angry and defensive admitting he cared for the rest of us, mortal or not, and here I was, finding that I _cared_ that he was upset.

"They are fools who have never even left their forest," Legolas ranted, lost in his own built-up passions, oblivious to my surprise. "Many here have never even interacted with mortals, or bothered to learn your tongue, but they think they know mortalkind so well." He gestured angrily skywards. "They call you dangerous and barbaric and greedy, as if we Elves were so infallible, as if we have never fallen prey to the lures of greed. We in Mirkwood remember what horrors drove our people eastwards--" he broke off abruptly, with an audible snap of his teeth, and I wondered what he'd left unsaid. But I did not press him, knowing all too well that there are some things that are simply too painful to speak of, even when it is long in the past. When Legolas spoke again, his voice was soft with bitterness. "They think their lives so perfect here, protected by the powers of the Noldor, never knowing the constant ragged wearing of war or the heavy burden of loss, or forever looking over your shoulder, waiting for peace to end. Everything is just so _perfect_ for them."

Something about his tone there rattled me. I had thought that Legolas was enjoying our rest here, that he was relishing the opportunities to walk beneath the trees he loved so much, being able to speak freely with other Elves in his own tongue. "You...don't like it here very much then?" I ventured cautiously, . "You have not complained before now."

"I felt that I should not spoil your chance at rest here. But...it reminds me overmuch of what Mirkwood should have been, what it has lost, a side of Mirkwood that I never got to see, because I was born too late. A thousand years too late." the Elf lapsed into solemn silence for a moment and then turned to stare at me with huge blue eyes. There was a fey light burning behind those eyes, reminding me of the old stories of will-o'-wisps, creatures made of blue flame that would lead travellers astray. "Lothlórien is an ancient forest, much like Mirkwood, but it is almost too light. I feel as if I were walking on the thinest ice. I do not know when the ice will crack and I will fall through." He sat up abruptly, smoothing his hair back from his face. "My apologies, Gimli. I have done precisely what I meant not to. I will lead you back to the others now, and then I shall remain nearby, so that Aragorn does not worry further."

"Whoa there, no you don't." I grabbed hold his arm before he could get to his feet. "Not yet, you don't. Not when I've finally got you talking, you don't get to suddenly turn squirrelly on me."

He stared at me in startled confusion. "Squirrelly? What is...squirrelly? A squirrel is an animal, is it not?" He held up his hands bent under his chin in a squirrel-like pose and then chattered out a very accurate mimicry of a squirrel.

The image was too much; this Elf, always so serious, mimicking a squirrel in voice and actions sent me into peels of laughter. Legolas looked at me, his expression both affronted and bewildered, and sent me into further hysterics.

"All I mean, is," I said, once I'd regained my composure. "You can talk to us, the Fellowship, I mean. You and I, we haven't had the best...we haven't exactly been easy on each other these past few months. But we're past that now, for all our fathers will roast us to hear of it." That earned me a small smile in return, I was pleased to notice. "And as your companion, I reserve the right to tell you that you let these pointy-eared ponces walk all over you far too much."

Legolas arched an eyebrow at me, an action I once would have mistaken as haughty arrogance. "Master Gimli, did you not once call me a pointy-eared ponce?"

"That is besides the point." I waved a hand, dismissing his question with a smile. "You cannot just let them shut you in for three days and scold you about the dangers of attachment. Friendship with mortals is brief and painful, tis true, especially for a long-lived Elf such as yourself. But it is also bright and fierce, because it is so brief." A wave of sadness washed over me, sudden and consuming. The memory of Balin's tomb, buried deep in Khazad-dum, and so many Dwarven corpses there, defiled by orcs, flooded through my mind's eye, giving rise to other memories, long since past, of faces dear to me who had gone now to Mahal's halls. "My father once told me that you cannot let the fear of grief stop you from reaching out. For in the end, it is worth the pain, and you will never truly lose us, for as long as you remember us."

Legolas gave me a gentle smile, bright with understanding. "That is true," he murmured softly, turning his face towards the sky to stare at the stars once more. "This is what the other Elves are missing: the perspective of mortals. We have always been your teachers, the Firstborn leading the later Races towards the knowledge we gained from the _Rodyn_. But in truth, we had never truly considered what you had to teach us." He turned back towards me, his eyes glittering with that fey light again, a mischievous smile upon his lips. "How do you recommend I...stand up to the Galadhrim, then, _mellon nin_?"

I had to pause for a moment, taken aback at the first time Legolas called me his friend. In his own language to boot. My father would have an apoplexy. An Elf and a Dwarf, friends.

"Well..." I stalled, thinking, trying to move past the mental images of my father's impending meltdown. Perhaps I could simply not tell him? "The only thing to do really would be to show them up."

The Elf barked a startled laugh. "You are not serious?"

"I'm very serious," I said, nodding solemnly, restraining the smile from twitching at my lips. "I might only be a Dwarf, and barbaric by the standards of these elves, but I have heard that the elves of Mirkwood are also considered to be wild and dangerous and uncivilised." I could not help but chuckle quietly as his expression shifted from offended to contemplative as he caught on to the joke. "No doubt you could take on any of these chatterboxes whenever you pleased. You're simply showing mercy to them by restraining yourself until now."  
  
"Perhaps a little archery competition is in order then?"

"Oh yes," I agreed, allowing a gleeful grin to stretch across my face. "A large public competition, so that the whole Fellowship can watch as you put the ponces in their place."

"It would not be so unexpected," Legolas mused with a definitively sarcastic tone. "For I am wild and barbaric after all, not to mention young and impulsive."

"Exactly."

"But first," the Elf leaned over, snatching back the bottle of wine. "I most certainly need to drink a lot more before I go to explain to Aragorn why I'm about to offend half the Galadhrim."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, everyone! Welcome back to Trial By Patience, and I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter as much I enjoyed writing it. Next update is Thursday, as usual. And a great big thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far, you are all awesome!


	4. Matching Wits

In hindsight, watching Legolas and Aragorn match wits against each other, I realised I should have done more to dissuade the Elf from the idea of a contest against the Lothlórien elves. I should have counselled patience and calm, as Gandalf would have. Now in the cold light of the morning, the ideas Legolas and I had discussed by the river under the stars seemed more foolish than they had then.

No matter if I lived to be as old as Durin the Deathless himself, I would never forget the look of admonishment and barely concealed annoyance on Aragorn's face as Legolas and I had finally stumbled back to the Fellowship's tent as dawn broke over the forest. Remembering, I felt a brief flash of guilt for causing him yet more stress, and remained grateful that I had not drank more of that Elven wine. Legolas, on the other hand, had wisely stoppered the bottle and hidden it before we had rejoined the others.

But now, I was faced with one angry Ranger and one stubborn mostly-drunk Elf, caught between them in some mad attempt to keep peace between them. Legolas had just finished explaining the concept of the contest with a remarkable lack of slurring (though he had had to stop more frequently to think of the correct Westron word, and at one point had switched entirely into Sindarin instead), and it was only due to my close inspection that I detected the sway in his stance. I wondered if Aragorn had as well.

"Tell me you are jesting." Aragorn crossed his arms, looking less impressed by the second. "Tell me that this is some foolhardy prank the two of you dreamed up to see if I would believe you."

"I am quite serious," Legolas responded, though his eyes were still bright with merriment. "I confess that it was more my idea than Master Gimli's, but he was the one that put me onto it."

 _Traitor_! I flashed a scowl at him and received a bright smile in return, almost as if he'd caught the tone of my thoughts. Could all Elves read minds? The Lady Galadriel I knew certainly could, but she was...different. Aragorn's burning iron-grey gaze swung round to me, wordlessly demanding explanation.

I threw myself at his mercy. "I confess, I did not discourage the idea. But what harm can it do, Aragorn?"

Aragorn snorted. "The animosity of our allies is not enough? I am not fond of starting a feud against Elves - those tend to end badly across history."

It was Legolas' turn to snort at this. "I doubt a simple archery contest could do so much damage, _mellon nin_. I will not be burning down their homes. It will be a welcome break from their daily lives, and a chance to test the skills of their warriors against their kin."

"Besides," I added, ignoring the chance of drawing further ire upon myself. "do you not trust the skills of our own Elf? I don't expect him to lose."

"That is what I am afraid of," Aragorn muttered. He fixed Legolas with a stern look. "We will discuss this more later, after you have slept, my friend. Don't think I have not noticed," he added when it seemed Legolas might protest. "And there will certainly not be further talk of a contest until I have re-examined your shoulder - after all that has happened, you have been reckless with it."

Legolas gripped the offending arm instinctively, almost protectively, his expression sullen. "I am not in pain, Aragorn. Truly. Besides, Caradhras was long enough ago that it should be fully healed by now."

"It should be," Aragorn conceded, though his tone brooked no argument. " _If_ , you'd heeded my advice and not began straining the muscles again immediately. And since then you have barely rested it, knowing you. So later, after you have slept, _here_ , where I can keep an eye on you, then I will decide if you have damaged it too much to take part in any kind of mad contest."

I did not envy the Elf one bit.

*.*.*.*.*

I slept the morning away, though I had not intended to - and as if to punish me, my dreams were dark and disturbed, full of the echoing empty halls and tombs of Khazad-dum and left my heart heavy when I awoke. I sat up in my bedroll, dismayed to see the afternoon sun rolling high and merry in the sky and the rest of the Fellowship already about, well into their days, including the Elf.

"Gimli!" Pippin all but bounded over, with Merry more sedately in tow. "You're awake, at last." The youngest Hobbit's eyes sparkled with curiosity, almost as bad as Legolas this one. But I could not bear to feel any annoyance at either of them, for they reminded me so much of my own cousins, Fili and Kili.

"Aye, I am awake. Though why I was allowed to sleep while the day wears on is beyond me," I grumped, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and reaching my pack to find my comb. My beard was surely in a dreadful tangle by now, and it would not do to look shabby while surrounded by obnoxious Elves.

"Here." Merry passed my pack from the pile, his own smile equally bright. "Did Aragorn really yell at you this morning?"

I groaned. "Who told you that?"

"Boromir," Pippin chipped in with an easy shrug. "He was awake when you and Legolas came stumbling in, drunk as common mercenaries he said, back with the dawn."

"We did no such thing!" I huffed, smothering my annoyance. "The princeling was drunk, certainly, but _I_ was not."

"Truly?" Pippin's curiosity seemed to increase ten-fold with barely suppressed glee, if such a thing were possible. "Was he really being held prisoner? Did you have to rescue him?"

I snorted a laugh. Where had they heard such ridiculous stories? "No, of course not." Finally, my comb! Buried at the base of my pack, as per usual. I set about unravelling my braids carefully.

Merry shot Pippin a triumphant look. "Told you so, Pip. Absolute nonsense. Frodo was right, too." He turned to me, albeit less smugly. "So what did happen? We tried asking Legolas, but Aragorn whisked him off the second he was awake, and they were speaking Elvish the whole time. Cousin Frodo, of course, refused to tell us what they'd been saying."

"He was right to do so," I nodded sagely. "That's their business, not your's, else they'd have been speaking Westron."

Pippin deflated for a moment at the faint reprimand - good, those two needed a steady hand now that Gandalf was...no longer around to keep them in line. Boromir did a good job, admittedly, but he had once confessed that he had not the heart to scold them too often, for they reminded him too much of his younger brother.

"However," I teased, seeing him perk up again at my pretend lofty tone. "I am free to share with you my business, after all."

By this point, I'd drawn the attention of not only Frodo and Samwise, but also Boromir as well - however hard he tried to pretend that he was focused on showing the other two Hobbits how to properly care for and sharpen their blades, I did not miss the long pauses and glances he shot in my direction.

"It seems that our Elf was not absent through any choice of his own," I pitched my voice just a little louder to include the others, nonchalantly still sorting my beard. "But through the undoubtably well-meaning intentions of his kin here. He took offence to this, and intends to hold a contest of skill to put them in their place."

This statement caused a low rumble of laughter to escape Boromir. "Truly, Master Dwarf?"

I nodded. "He was certainly set on it last night. Though Aragorn thinks it unwise."

"Spoilsport," Boromir snorted. "I think it is an excellent idea. We have similar contests in Gondor between the soldiers - it keeps rivalry down and gives us an outlet for frustrations and petty grievances. Everyone knows that there is no true ill-intent behind it, only good-natured sportsmanship. But I suppose, among the Rangers they do not do such things."

"Nor among Hobbits," Samwise added softly, as if shy to speak out. Two months with the Company had not done much to shake off that shyness, save where Frodo was concerned. Then if he perceived an injustice to Frodo, he would let loose a remarkable fury. Certainly, when Frodo had thought to have been lost on Caradhras, he had been a storm incarnate, determined to search for his master by himself if he must and he had certainly not been shy in telling us so.

"That's not necessary true, Sam," Merry chimed in. "We just don't fight about it. Remember the vegetable contests in the Shire every year? How the Banks' and the Greenhands constantly tried to out-do each other for first price, all year round?"

Sam's eyes widened in recognition and he nodded. "So, Master Legolas wants to prove what then? That he's the best warrior?"

"No, lad." I shook my head, re-braiding my beard at last. Much better. "He just wants to show them that he's an adult and should be treated so. It isn't about _winning_ , exactly, more about proving a point."

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at me, mirroring each other's expressions of startled surprise. I felt a prickly defensiveness creep over me - did I have something on my face? Had I said something odd? "What?"

"Nothing," Frodo said, too quickly, hiding a smile. I fought back a scowl.

"It's just..." Merry said, looking around to the others for support. "Since when did you agree with anything Legolas did?"

I opened my mouth to retort, and then closed it, unable to think of a suitable response. When had I started agreeing with him? Had I not been telling myself earlier how foolish the idea was? And yet, I could not think of a suitable alternative. More importantly, when had I found myself understanding the Elf's motivations?

I was saved from having to think of a potentially embarrassing response by the arrival of both Aragorn and Legolas, returning from wherever they had disappeared to before I'd awoken. Judging from Legolas' stubbornly proud expression and Aragorn's mix of amusement and exasperation, I guessed their conversation had not been an easy one.

"Well," Aragorn huffed as they approached, a faint smile dancing on the edges of his lips, restrained only by his desire to appear stern. "It seems Legolas will be taking part in a contest with the Galadhrim a few days hence."

 _Oh?_ "So you deemed him fit then?" I resisted the urge to smirk, but a teasing tone crept into my voice.

"Oh I did not matter whether I did or not. The second my back was turned and there were Elves nearby, he was off telling them." He gave an extremely exaggerated exasperated sigh, proof that he was no longer as angry with the idea and the recalcitrant Elf as he had been earlier. "He convinced me of its merits, once I had enough Elves clamouring at me with excitement over the idea."

Legolas managed to keep an innocent expression even as Aragorn swatted at him - but there was no malice in either action. "Besides," the Elf added. "There is a new stake at hand: it seems there has been rumours among the Galadhrim that I should be...hmm...sent home. And one of them should replace me in the Company. Owing, of course, to my youth and inexperience, not to mention how desperately worried my _adar_ must be."

The sudden explosion of protests at that idea certainly seemed to startle him, and I confess I was surprised to hear my own voice among those protests - though the feeling in my chest seemed to concur with the shared outrage. Legolas gave a small pleased smile.

"I do not intend to go anywhere, my friends," he soothed. "Except perhaps to practice my archery somewhere quiet. But rest assured I am not abandoning the Fellowship, not even if my _adar_ himself stormed Lothlórien to drag me back by the ear."

"I believe that," Aragorn teased. "Though if Rínor came instead, or your aunt perhaps, you might sing a different tune."

Legolas' flushed crimson, the first time I'd ever seen the princeling so viscerally embarrassed. "I would not! I gave my word to Frodo that I would help him see the Quest through!" When Aragorn only laughed in response, he huffed and sat down by the tent instead, ears twitching in discomfort. I reached over and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and was rewarded by more incredulous stares from my companions. _Typical_. I start being kind to the Elf and everyone else became strange.

Legolas seemed oblivious to stares, collecting his quiver of arrows and tipped them out on the grass to inspect them, pointedly ignoring Aragorn's attempts to apologise. Eventually Boromir took pity on the Elf and urged the Hobbits to join him in asking Legolas about his beloved weaponry. It seemed a safe enough topic, so I joined in as well. Dwarves are not typically archers, owing to a tendency towards short-sightedness as a whole, but I had been eyeing the long knife on his belt for quite some time, fingers itching to examine the craftsmanship. The embarrassment quickly faded from Legolas' face and he became more animated as he and Boromir began to compare different methods of fletching.

It did not escape my attention that Aragorn did not join in, but hung back watching for a while, a smug satisfied smile on his face. When I looked to him and beckoned for him to join us, he shook his head, his expression changing to something more... _fond_. And then all at once, I realised he'd set us up, the conniving Ranger. He'd deliberately provoked the Elf's embarrassment so as to draw the rest of us into supporting him. A calculated risk, but one that had apparently paid off. I nodded to him, with as much respect as I could convey.

Aragorn nodded back, and then, without a word, set off into the trees. Now, that puzzled me - just where could he be off to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies everyone for missing the Thursday update - I was rather ill for a few days and was unable to get the chapter finished. So to make up for it, all my stories are getting an update today! Enjoy, and please leave a review if you liked it!


	5. A Family Matter

"Do you think you'll win?"

"Hmm?" Legolas did not even so much as look at me, my abrupt question barely even making a dent in his focus as he restrung his bow for the umpteenth time that day. Unfamiliar as I might be with Elves, I was quickly beginning to see the signs of strain in Legolas' posture.

Word of the contest spread quickly among the inhabitants of Lothlórien, to the point where the tension and excitement was palpable - Elves would appear by our tent without warning, regardless of the time, asking for Legolas (demanding, sometimes), or if they failed to find him, they would badger Aragorn with questions he had no idea how to answer. It was little wonder that Legolas made himself scarce whenever he heard them coming.

In truth, the Elf seemed desperate for a distraction. And, _somehow_ , the task of distracting him had fallen to me.

He and I resumed our familiar walks through Lothlórien most days, but there was a distinctive shift in our conversations now that the contest was looming. The riverbank was quickly becoming a favourite spot of ours, letting the water rush by to cover the sounds of our conversations - and more often than not, my very presence seemed to deter most other Elves from bothering us. Possibly also the sheer force of Legolas' stare whenever someone tried to interrupt us had some part in it, but I thought it more my doing.

We had been enjoying a pleasant afternoon - the sun was high and Legolas was letting his bare feet drift in the water as he tended his bow (again) while I stayed safely dry on the bank - it was the middle of winter, I'd argued, I had no intention of catching my death of cold on an Elven whim. Legolas and I had been discussing the relative merits of fishing techniques (the Elf insisted on catching them _by hand_ instead of a rod and bait like _a sensible person_ ), and then silence had drifted between us like fog rolling in from the hills. By this point, I no longer found our silences to be stiff and cold, but rather a natural balance being struck between companions - the Elf was not ignoring me, but rather his attention had wandered away from spoken conversation, he'd explained once, growing terribly confused when I'd asked him what other kind of conversation we could possibly have.

I was spared from having to repeat my question when, as suddenly as if he'd been struck, Legolas shot to his feet and clambered back up the grassy bank, not even bothering to roll his trousers back down from his knees or to collect his quiver as he did so.

"What's wrong?" I stood as well, reading the tension in my companion. He'd sunk into a half-crouch by my side, almost defensively, a sure sign he was anxious about something. But what could unsettle him so in Lothlórien? The protection of the Lady Galadriel was absolute, Aragorn had assured us - this deep into her kingdom, the only thing that could even have a chance of bothering us would be other Elves, and surely none of them could rile Legolas like this.

A cold sensation gripped tight in my chest as I remembered the last time I'd seen the Elf so unsettled - just a few weeks ago, as we'd crossed into the borders of Lothlórien, the Galadhrim had taken us in and allowed us to sleep on the platforms in the trees - a thoroughly unpleasant night all round as far as I'd been concerned, though I had not dwelt on it, for my heart had been heavy with grief and loss. But mid-way through the night, I'd awoken to find Aragorn holding Legolas in an iron-grip as the Elf's eyes flashed with wildness; just as I'd been about to ask why other Elves had flitted past on silent feet, and Legolas had let out a near-inaudible hiss of " _yrch_." Elves, it seemed, had even more of a grievance with Orc-kind than the Dwarves did, and our Elf was no exception. Only after the Orcs had passed us by had Aragorn dared to release Legolas, who in turn had been sullenly furious for the remainder of the night.

But surely, there was no chance of Orcs so deep within Lothlórien's borders. Never.

Legolas merely shook his head in response, and then he straightened up, and his face smoothed to complete blankness - I recognised that look all too well. It was the face he wore when he was desperate to hide his emotions. I called it his Princeling face, cold and absolute and aloof. Now that I knew the warm, boundlessly-curious Legolas underneath the mask, this face was all the more alien and, in truth, rather frightening.

" _Ernil_ Legolas," a voice called from the trees and it was a long moment before I placed the slow, deep voice of the Lord Celeborn, the Lady Galadriel's husband and co-ruler. His hair shone bright silver in the sunlight, flashing as bright as the rushing water beside us, and though his voice was warm, once he'd drawn close enough I could see the warmth was missing from his eyes. "Cousin mine, I was hoping to find you here. I looked for you among the Fellowship, but I see that your path has led you elsewhere." His gaze flickered to me briefly and he gave me a nod of greeting which I returned with deliberate stiffness.

Legolas dropped into a slight bow. "My lord, you grace us with your presence. Had I known you were seeking me, I would have made more of an effort to make myself available to you." Was that a jibe? I hoped not. Instinct gnawed at me that this was not an Elf to be trifled with, though worry pulled at me for Legolas as well. Even the very manner of his speech had changed, he sounded... _older_. Less like himself.

Celeborn's eyes fixed on mine, and I found myself drawn into them and the weight behind them. Though his face was smooth and unlined, like a man barely in his middle years (not that one _could_ mistake an Elf for a Man, even without the pointed ears), his eyes were ancient, full of deep wisdom, the kind that comes at a dreadful cost. I would never admit it aloud, but in all frankness, the eyes of the Lord Celeborn were terrible and I found I wanted to break away from his gaze at all costs.

"Perhaps, Master Dwarf," he said, with deliberate casualness. "You might excuse my cousin and I for a few minutes? I would discuss an important matter with him, and I think," those terrible eyes flickered between myself and Legolas. Had there been just a hint of a smile there? "It would be easier if we were to speak Sindarin. I would prefer not to be so rude though, as I would be if you remained."

Then abruptly, Legolas was between myself and the elder Elf and the spell of his eyes was broken. "There is no need... _cousin_. Whatever you have to discuss, I have no objection to Gimli remaining, nor to the use of Westron." I glanced up at him to see a polite smile, almost verging on feral, on Legolas' face. "I do need the practice after all."

The Lord Celeborn's expression remained unchanged. "It is a family matter, Legolas."

Legolas' eyes flashed. "That is why he stays."

I sucked in a breath, uncertain as to whether to stay or go. Elves often spoke in riddles that went over the heads of most others, but even though I had been taught how best to interpret them, I was still struggling. But the barbs being flung were not beyond me, and I understood at least that Legolas was toeing a dangerous line, confident of his position by sheer stubbornness alone.

For a second, I thought Celeborn would continue to argue, to make his will known, but instead, he let the matter drop with an almost pleasant smile. "Very well. Since this might take some time, perhaps we should be seated?" Without waiting for an answer, the Lord gathered his robes and dropped into the grass, as unperturbed as if he'd been sitting on the finest chair. Legolas and I followed suit, a shade more hesitantly, Legolas taking up a cross-legged position, angled more towards me than Celeborn, just bordering on rudeness. I wondered why, and a small part of my mind gnawed over the idea that Legolas was, in his own way, preparing to protect me if need be. Again, I could not help but wonder why Legolas was so wary of his fellow Elves. If he would not tell me, perhaps Aragorn would know.

"What is the matter you wish to discuss, my lord?" Legolas prompted, aloud, when the silence became brittle between the three of us.

Celeborn held his silence for a moment longer, in a most irritating fashion, before he reached into his robes and brought forth a two envelopes, each stamped and sealed shut with green wax. Legolas beside me gave a start, his fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers in a painful grip. "These letters arrived today," Celeborn explained. "By a courier that was intercepted at the northern fences; though he was quite uncertain if he was in time to catch the intended recipient. We sent him on his way with our assurances that you were indeed present in our lands." The letters were passed over, and I peered at them curiously. But, much to my surprise, Legolas did not immediately tear into them, or open them at all. Instead, he took a deep measured breath and sat them on the grass before him, resting one hand lightly on them.

"Thank you, my lord. Most generous of you to deliver them to me yourself." Legolas inclined his head slightly in deference. "You have my gratitude."

One silver eyebrow raised. "Forgive me, but unless I am mistaken, those envelopes are sealed with the crests of Mirkwood's Royal Family."

"They are, yes."

"Then why do you hesitate?"

Legolas gave an easy shrug. "I not dare to be so rude as to interrupt you when you have spent so much time finding me, merely to read two letters. They can wait until we are done speaking, surely."

A brief look of frustration cracked Celeborn's mask, and then was gone as quickly as if it had never been. If I had not been watching for his reaction, I would have missed it.

"Very well," he said instead. "Word has reached the Lady Galadriel and I of a...contest of sorts that is meant to be taking place in the next few days."

Legolas' face remained politely curious. "Are you interested in entering, my lord? It should prove to be an excellent distraction."

"What is what concerns us," Celeborn responded stonily. "We do not think it wise. In fact, we think it best that the whole affair be dismissed before it can lead to harm."

Legolas' smile became brittle. "You have been speaking to Aragorn about this. He also did not approve."

"He came to us with _concerns_ , yes. But we did not reach this decision by speaking with him alone." Celeborn smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from his robes, as if he had no greater concern in the world. "What say you? Will you retract your grievance and allow the matter to drop?"

His voice was so gentle, his expression softening to an endearing smile - he seemed every bit the wise and kind Lord, an elder relative that simply wanted the best for his young cousin. I dragged my gaze, almost reluctantly, away from him, to gauge Legolas' reaction. A small, bewildered part of me almost hoped he would agree with Celeborn and let go of the idea - it was, after all, simply a waste of our time...surely that would be best...if he would just agree...

"I think not."

I blinked, and made to protest. Quick as lightning, Legolas' hand shot out at gripped my knee before I could speak, a vice-like grip that startled me, and his eyes flashed in warning. All too late, I saw the danger. The Lord Celeborn had tried to beguile us into agreeing with him, and I had almost wandered into the trap blindly. There had been no malice in the Elf's actions, for it was known that such persuasions were as natural as breathing among Elves, I doubt that Celeborn had even deliberately intended it.

Legolas smiled, and the tension faded away. "I think the contest should go ahead, my lord. Several Elves have aired grievances against me, publicly even, so I have no choice but to prove myself in Challenge. That is how the matter would be resolved in Mirkwood, and none of my competitors has yet raised objection to the suggestion." His fingers brushed the letters again and he met Celeborn's gaze with determination. "And besides, I will not allow the choice of Lord Elrond to be maligned in such a fashion - it was he who chose me for this Fellowship, and he is not here to defend his choice. So I must do so-" Legolas' grin turned a shade wicked. "-since he is my _cousin_ , after all."

The meaning of his words was not lost on Celeborn, who evidently had had enough. He rose to his feet, smooth and fluid as the river beside us. "I see that you resemble your father in spirit, not just in looks," he said, with a lofty arch to his brow. "I see no further use in prolonging the argument - you are set on this course and we will allow it." Wise indeed, was the Lord Celeborn. "Good day to you, _Ernil_ Legolas, Gimli Gloin's son." He inclined his head respectfully and strode away with quick graceful steps. Legolas sat, still as a statue, watching him go.

When the Lord of the Galadhrim was sufficiently far away, Legolas blew out a noisy breath and fell backwards, loose limbed, to the grass. "Well...that was tedious." He sighed again and I could not help but echo him, feeling suddenly all the tension that had built up in my shoulders from being so on edge.

"Is he truly your cousin?" I blurted out, unable to think of a single other thing to say. I could have kicked myself for saying it, seeing the Elf turn to me, his expression withering and then it was smoothed away as he sighed yet again.

"If that is how the Lord Celeborn chose the describe it, I can only assume it is so." He pushed a hand through his hair as he sat back up. "I am not certain of what the exact relation, or how to describe it in this language. Let me think...My great-grandfather and his...hmm...grandfather, I think, were brothers. Or something like that. As I said, I am not sure."

"And Lord Elrond?"

Legolas laughed. "A small jibe, petty on my part. Lord Elrond is Lord Celeborn's son by marriage, thus also my cousin, as I understand such things."

"And by implying that you were only defending the honour of your family-" the realisation was quick to dawn on me, and I grinned widely. "-you made certain that Lord Celeborn had to let the contest go ahead. He could not allow a cousin to defend the decision of his own son-in-law, while he stood by and did nothing."

Legolas nodded. "It would have embarrassed him otherwise." He turned to look at me, blue eyes sombre once more. "Though I must apologise for earlier, I did not hurt you, did I?"

"No, of course not!" My knee ached, but I did not show it. "It would take more than that to hurt a sturdy Dwarf like myself. You have much to learn about Dwarves."

Legolas' smile was bright. "I look forward to learning more about them." His smile was brief though, as he looked back at the two letters lying innocently on the grass, the dark green seals stark against the clean white envelopes. The official seals of the House of Oropher. And not just one letter, but _two_. One letter might be a simple missive of concern, or perhaps a plea for Legolas to return home, but two letters spoke of something far more urgent.

_Why would King Thranduil need to send two letters?_


	6. Letters of Remembrance

The letters were both a source of fascination and frustration for me, even as they lay inanimate on the grass, ever so innocent, and at the same time, potentially very dangerous. As Legolas had mentioned on our very first walk together through these woods, the journey between Mirkwood and Lothlórien was fraught with peril, owing to the fact that one would have to pass southwards by Dol Guldur, and that was a trip that no Elf would willingly make on a whim. Now that I thought back, I recalled Legolas had mentioned something similar during the Council in Rivendell months ago. So what dire circumstances could have prompted Thranduil to risk one of his Elves on such a journey, not knowing if they would ever reach their intended recipient? He had no guarantee that the Fellowship would even have passed through Lothlórien, and yet, the letters had been sent, at great risk.

Legolas refused to comment on them, or to read them in my presence, merely tucking them into his tunic with a trembling hand. He was no longer the composed Elven prince, not the persistently optimistic Legolas that I knew - though he had not dared to show it before Lord Celeborn, the revelation of the letters had shaken him badly. When I pressed, Legolas had merely shaken his head and packed up his belongings, stating that he needed time to think about things. We had walked back to the Fellowship in silence and there he had left me, vanishing back into the trees without even a look behind him.

When a day passed with no sign of him and no explanation, I gave in to my private frustration and drew Aragorn aside. The tall Man frowned as I explained what had happened the day before, the arrival of Celeborn and the letters and Legolas' strange behaviour, and I felt the first creeping of embarrassment at being so visibly concerned for the Elf.

"Legolas does not like to speak of his family," Aragorn said carefully. "And he would not be happy to know that we are speaking of this without him. But I have met them, even stayed with his _lumornoss_ for a few nights on occasion. I will tell you what I can, and speculate where I know almost for certain. But I will not make wild guesses, you have my word on that."

I nodded, that was good enough for my purposes. "I would not ask, or put you in this position if I had another option. But you are the closest person to Legolas now, since Gandalf..." I trailed off and hastily changed track. "The conversation with Lord Celeborn riled him something dreadful, especially with those letters."

Aragorn gave a thoughtful, yet still disapproving, hum. "Yes, from what you have said, that was badly handled. I would not have gone to Celeborn if I had had another option. Though I certainly regret it now, there is nothing to be done about it."

A flash of annoyance burned through me as I recalled Celeborn mentioning Aragorn's role in this whole affair, but I could not let myself by distracted by it now. I could air my grievances with him later - but not now when Aragorn might be the only person who would give me answers!

"You mentioned there were two letters?" He asked, and frowned when I nodded. "It does not seem sensible for King Thranduil to have sent two letters simultaneously. No, it is more likely that only one is from Thranduil himself, and the other is from Rínor."

Rínor? The name sparked a faint flicker of recognition. "You have mentioned him before."

Aragorn nodded. He looked around briefly, as if expecting Legolas to spring forth from the trees to berate us for discussing his private affairs, but he did not, thankfully - there was no one around to listen, in any case, for Boromir had taken the Hobbits elsewhere to explore, leaving Aragorn and I the sanctuary of the pavilion to ourselves.

"He is Legolas' elder brother, and the heir of Mirkwood's throne, should anything happen to Thranduil," he explained softly. "He is well-loved by Mirkwood's people, and for many years, he and Legolas were very close, despite the gap in their ages."

"Were?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow in query. "They are no longer close?"

"I do not know why, so do not ask." Aragorn shook his head. "Legolas has never told me, and the other Elves will not speak of it, save in hushed whispers to mourn how they used to be. All I could convince them to tell me, and reluctantly so, was that it had something to do with the middle Thranduilion, Braichanar. Though how, I have no explanation, for he died many years ago, or so Lord Elrond told me."

I was silent for a long moment, stunned by the sudden revelations, and quickly coming to realise how little I knew of Legolas at all. "So," I finally managed to gather my thoughts together. "Why then would they risk a dangerous road to send him letters?"

Aragorn's noble features turned grim. "The situation in Mirkwood has always been perilous, as you know." I nodded; Erebor was considered a neighbour of the Elven realm, and we often heard news about the goings-on in the forest from the Men of Dale. "The Shadow has ever pushed at their borders, a constant watch is necessary to keep them safe. Their circumstances may have grown worse in the time Legolas been absent. He may only be one in our Company, but a united Royal Family might do wonders for Mirkwood's morale."

"Do you think he should go home then?" I asked, unsure of what answer I really wanted to hear. I knew what the right answer should be, that if Mirkwood was struggling without her prince, then he should absolutely go to them. But it would crush Legolas' confidence to do, and it would be a terrible conflict of duty in him. I wondered what I would do, if I had been put in such a situation.

"I cannot say," Aragorn said calmly. "Because I do not know what the letters contain, Master Dwarf. Only Legolas does, and if he is not willing to share, then we cannot speculate on it." And that should have been the matter closed, if I had been willing to keep my mouth shut. But I am not known for my willingness to let a matter drop, even if it was more prudent to do so - a trait my father had long despaired of chipping out of me.

This stubbornness must have shown on my face, for Aragorn gave a despairing sigh. "You are as bad as he is sometimes. It is little wonder that the two of you are fast becoming friends now that you are past your senseless bickering and pranks." He held up a hand to forestall my protests - the arguments that Legolas and I had had over these last two months had most certainly _not_ been senseless, thank you very much! "I will say no more. If you will not let the matter rest, then I suggest you go browbeat Legolas until _he_ gives you answers."

"I would do," I groused. "If I could find him half the times I went looking for him. Dwarves are not made for seeking Elves among trees, you know."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at me and then laughed. "He is not far away, I assure you, Master Gimli. No doubt he is in one of the trees nearby, keeping a watchful eye on us as is his wont. I have seen him traversing the branches in the trees around our clearing, and on occasion, he sleeps in the nearest _talan_ , which has been empty since we came to Lothlórien. No doubt for our privacy, a gift from the Lady. I will show you; even if he is not there, it would be a good place for you to wait for him."

Aragorn got to his feet and beckoned to me to follow. I did so, my mind abuzz with the questions I might ask Legolas, the possible answers he might give, the turnings our conversation could take. In the end, I shooed the thoughts away - they were all nonsense, after all, for how could I predict how the flight Elf might react to any given question? A Dwarvish answer I might have been able to fathom, but never an Elvish one.

A short distance from our pavilion's clearing, Aragorn leapt into the branches of one of the mallorn trees, not as nimble as an Elf perhaps, but still far more capable than myself, or the height-fearing Hobbits, or even perhaps the more stockily built Boromir. One hand resting against the trunk for balance, he carefully reached out with his free hand to loosen the rope ladder, which unravelled silently to rest at my feet.

Quick and fearless, Aragorn lowered himself back down the ground and gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. "I will leave you here, Master Dwarf. I hope you get the answers you seek. And..." he shot a look up into the branches, a slight frown creasing his brow. "I hope that what I fear the letters contain turns out to be false."

With a concerned shake of his head, the noble Ranger strode back towards the pavilion, his boots making only the slightest sound as he navigated the forest with practiced ease. I had forgotten until that moment, this was not Aragorn's first time in the woods of Lothlórien.

I swallowed nervously, looking up the length of the ladder once more. I was not particularly afraid of heights, but I did have a sensible caution about flimsy rope ladders and very tall trees. Dwarves and trees simply did not mix. Give me a good stone foundation any day and I will be satisfied. I belonged to the stone and to the earth, not among the birds and the leaves. But I could not let the Elf continue to shut out the Fellowship, even if I had to drag every word out of him. It was simply not healthy.

Setting aside my good Dwarven sensibilities for the time being, I set about climbing the ladder. Much to my surprise, though I should not have been surprised, it held firm and true under my weight and did not sway. Indeed, if it were possible, I would have sworn that I finished the climb far faster than I should have done. I grumbled a minor oath under my breath as I scrambled onto the hard wooden floor of the platform. _Elves._ Could they not leave just one thing unmagicked?

Much to my disappointment, however, the climb was initially for naught - the Elf I was seeking was not there. As Aragorn had suggested, I did not climb back down, but instead, I settled against the bole of the tree to wait. It was a good spot, I mused - it had an excellent view of the pavilion, even to my eyes, and I could see Aragorn sitting by the fountain, running his whetstone over his sword as he so often did when he had much to think on. No doubt the platform had much to satisfy an Elf, plenty of trees around, leaves and such, and the closeness of the clearing would provide a good view of the stars when night fell.

Time passed, though it did not necessary feel like it, and Legolas did not make an appearance. I confess that I lapsed into a doze at times, and as such, did not hear him when he finally did turn up. I jerked awake at the sound of bare feet landing on the wood of the platform, in dazed bewilderment thinking that one of the Hobbits had actually come to keep me company. But when I opened my eyes, I let out a startled yelp, soundly smacking my head against the trunk of the tree, owing to the fact that I'd awoken to Legolas' face scant inches from mine, scarcely illuminated since night had fallen while I slept. Legolas, equally startled by my reaction, leapt back several feet to the edge of the platform like a skittish cat.

" _By Mahal's beard!_ " I swore viciously, rubbing my definitely bruised head. I made a note to myself to never go without a solid helmet around Elves again. "Don't do that!"

"I apologise." Legolas' voice was soft, but could not hide the current of amusement that shook it. At least he did sound a little contrite. "What are you doing up here? Should you not be with the others?" He gestured towards the pavilion, where by now, we could see the merry light of the cook-fire glittering and the shadowed forms of the Fellowship gathered around it. I got to my feet, wincing as my head spun for a moment. Legolas was at my side in an instant, bracing me, but I waved him off.

"I'm fine. I was waiting for you actually." Legolas' look of genuine surprise sent a roll of resentment through my gut, but I hastily squashed it. "You seemed upset earlier, and Aragorn graciously gave up the location of your hiding spot."

Legolas shot a scowl towards the pavilion and hissed something under his breath in Elvish. There was a small part of me that wanted to resolve to learn the language just so that I would understand him more than half the time, but my Dwarven pride simply would not allow it. "I am fine, _mellon nin_ ," Legolas said, with a look on his face that was certainly not fine.

I raised an eyebrow, taking in his slightly dishevelled look and his now bare feet. "You look like you've been dragged by your ear through a bush. Where did your shoes disappear to?"

Legolas looked down at himself, as if noticing his shoeless state for the first time and made a small noise of surprise. "I am not certain. I cannot remember when I took them off."

 _Elves!_ I honestly despaired. I switched track, hoping that directness would succeed for a change.

"Legolas?" His attention was beginning to wander again, but he did at least manage to look in my general direction as we sat together at the edge of the platform. Legolas swung his legs off the edge, as fearless as ever, but my Dwarven good sense came rushing back with a vengeance at the mere thought, so sensibly, I sat cross-legged beside him. "Will you tell me now what the letters said?"

Legolas froze, legs mid-swing. "Do you really need to know?"

I shook my head. "No, I do not. But I think you might need to talk about them."

He sighed, and the stiffness went out him all in a rush. "I suppose that is true. They were from my family, as you have no doubt guessed by now. This much I am not ashamed to admit: I did not say farewell before I left for the Quest and the matter has been weighing on me since. I left letters in Lord Elrond's care instead to be sent to them, and he, in turn, must have given them some idea of where they might be able to find me later. Or else, Óleth guessed - she is very good at guessing such things." He fidgeted uncomfortably and I resisted the question that lingered on my tongue - who was Óleth? I would have to ask Aragorn later. Now was not the time to interrupt. "My father sent the first letter; it was very much like him, I think, and there were many things left unsaid. He- He urged me to remain with the Company, no matter what I might hear of Mirkwood." Legolas' slim hands balled into fists. "As if that would not make me wish to return all the sooner. But I gave my word, I would not leave the Company."

He took a deep shuddering breath and unclenched his hands, flexing them, and in the dim silver glow of the lamps, I could see the crescent marks where his nails had bitten into the skin. When he spoke again, his voice was flat and his eyes, normally so bright, were dull. "The second letter was from my brother. We have not spoken in years, not in letter or in passing, so you can imagine my surprise. He sent me apologies and contrition and things that I did not want to hear, because they are the things he always says, or tries to, whenever I am near. But as the Lord Celeborn says, I am very like my father - and I do not forgive easily."

I hesitated for a moment, uncertain of what to say, and then reached out to clasp his shoulder. It was something I had seen Aragorn do with Legolas, in those rare moments when we had a moment of peace, and it was a common enough gesture of camaraderie and support among my people as well - some things, it seemed, are simply universal.

"I am sorry, my friend." was all I could manage to say. Legolas patted my hand and gave me a sad smile.

"In the end, you see Lord Celeborn got the upper hand in our conversation. For he is not even here, and he has won - he knew that family has always been my weakness and he knew my arguments for the contest were nothing but air. I am fighting for only myself, to prove I have the right to remain with the Fellowship, and he knows that. He just wanted to see if I would admit it, or if I would fall back on a childish need to have the upper hand, even against those who have been playing such games since long before I was born." He sighed heavily and scratched one twitching ear.

"But do you know what I have realised, friend Gimli?"

I shot him a questioning look. "What is that?"

He smiled, and the heavy dull look in his face lifted as he did so. "That among friends, I never need to prove myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very chatty chapter, I apologise, but some important info did need to work its way into this story! Although, if you're seeking to learn more about the issues between Legolas and his family, you'll need to keep an eye on my other story Fragments of a Forgotten Truth, which forms my headcanonical backstory to all my Legolas centric stories.
> 
> Almost missed today's update, since I forgot I'd only written half a chapter and then had to write the rest all in a rush, so I'm afraid its unbeta'd, apologies for any mistakes, but hey, longest chapter so far!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been leaving kudos and such lovely comments! They're really keeping me going with this story!


	7. The Contest Begins!

The day of the contest arrived, and the entire forest was abuzz with excitement. I awoke shortly after dawn, simply because it was impossible to sleep longer with the sheer noise that was beginning to build around us. Aragorn flashed me a sympathetic look as I emerged from the pavilion, grumbling and stiff-necked - the couches the Elves had left us simply did _not_ agree with me in the slightest. I would be sticking to my own Dwarven-made bedroll in future, I think. The Hobbits were not yet awake, but both Boromir and Aragorn were and for once they were not fighting. I nodded to them both as I went to the fountain, both to drink and to splash the cool water on my face. I needed to be alert today and I had not slept well.

Smoothing away the excess water from my face, I blinked bleary-eyed at the forest. I'd almost expected to find the clearing crawling with Elves, the amount of noise they were making. But there was not a single one to be seen; I was beginning to get the hang of catching glimpses of their passing through the branches, the way the branches moved to accommodate their movements, the quiet rustle of the leaves. Not even our own Elf was nearby, but that was no longer so concerning to me. I had seen him the night before, and he'd assured me that he would not be far away should we need him, but he would prefer to be alone while we slept. I did not argue with him for once.

"Do they need to make such a racket?" I grumbled as I rejoined Aragorn and Boromir. Aragorn gave a light laugh.

"They are excited, that is all. And impatient." He flashed me a grin, looking far less careworn than he had since before Moria. "There have been many calls for the Fellowship to be fetched ever since the sun began to rise, so that they might start the contest." The mischievous twinkle in his eyes gave me an idea of what had happened to whoever had suggested that idea.

I took the proffered breakfast from Boromir with a grateful smile. Might as well enjoy as many hot meals as I could before we moved on; who knows when our next respite from the watchful eyes of the Enemy might be? "Let them stew a bit longer then," I mumbled around a mouthful of porridge. Aragorn's was excellent, without a doubt. _Mahal_ , that made me homesick - my mother's porridge was by far the best.

"They will not start without us, apparently," Boromir said, though there was a trace of doubt in his voice.

"Legolas would never." Aragorn's tone was firm. "But we should wake the Hobbits soon, so as to avoid being so late that we are considered rude."

I snorted, and added in an undertone, "Mahal forfend that we are the ones to be late, when the Elves have no word for a minute." That was something I had gleaned from Legolas, when we had been interrupted once again by Elves seeking to pry him away from my 'dangerous' company. Elvish time did not allow for anything between a moment (which was an undefinable amount of time) and an hour, which could be judged by the passing of the Sun overhead. A certain number of heartbeats could suffice for small amounts of time, but according to Legolas, they went by so swiftly that almost no one bothered.

Aragorn flashed me a small warning look. "They are still our hosts, so we will be polite."

"Politely annoying," Boromir amended, teeth flashing as he laughed.

*.*.*.*.*

Despite our efforts, we were only able to delay the contest further by a little under an hour. Even as Aragorn managed to chivvy us all out of our clearing, we were scooped up by a group of Elves, all aquiver with excitement, eyes bright. We were swept along by their enthusiasm, feeling our own spirits lift at their vibrancy, their sing-song voices that rose in spontaneous song. They only became more energised when we reached the location of the contest itself.

Certainly, no expense had been spared. I had been expecting, perhaps, a clearing, with a few targets set up at a reasonable distance - something fairly typical and familiar. But instead, there was not a target to be seen, and the trees were only slightly less densely packed than elsewhere in the forest, but lights had been set everywhere that the sun could not penetrate and banners had been strung from tree to tree, along the edges of the platforms, and everywhere else that was feasible. And there were Elves everywhere that was feasible as well. I had never see so many packed into one spot before. There was nowhere that one could look where there was not at least three Elves in sight at all times. In the branches of the trees, crowding on the platforms and the bridges, around bases of the trees and crowding together. Although the day was still young, I could spot bottles of wine being freely passed around.

Myself and the Fellowship were swept through the laughing chattering crowd, until we reached a spot that had, evidently, been set aside for us, right at the front. Up close, I could now see the almost invisible lines that the crowd of spectators was not allowed to cross, out of politeness to the competitors and to save them from distraction. It was a good system, and one that was obviously known to everyone.

"Legolas!" Pippin's voice rose above the chatter of the crowd - we had moved the Hobbits to the very front for the best view; they were, after all, very small. Some distance ahead of us, Legolas' head jerked up from where he had been checking his arrows, and the look of concentration on his face smoothed into a brilliant smile as he spotted us, and waved.

With him were two other Elves, obviously the chosen competitors for the Galadhrim. Legolas, of course, stood out by a mile, standing next to them as both were shorter than he, more broad across the shoulder and darkly haired. I could not see much of their features from where we were standing, but I recognised at least one of them as an Elf that had been one of the most vocal and persistent in trying to interrupt my walks with Legolas these last few weeks. What had his name been? Legolas had told me... _Corfindon_. That was it, now I remembered, he'd had a narrow thin face, with eyes that had been almost too discerning, framed by hair so dark it was almost black. He had been arrogant. I didn't like him.

I was saved from having to ask about the other Elf, by Frodo who asked the other question that was on my mind. _Why were there only two other competitors?_ Typically, it was Aragorn that answered.

"Corfindon and Galweth are two of Lothlórien's best archers; but they were also the two most adamant that they should take Legolas' place on the Fellowship. It has been a matter of much debate among the Galadhrim who should compete. Ultimately, Lord Celeborn had to intervene and declared that in the interest of fairness, Legolas should only compete against two champions of Lothlórien, and then threw Legolas his choice of competitor. I am not surprised by his choices in the slightest." Aragorn's voice was light and casual, but his grey gaze was made of flint and steel - he was not pleased at all by the fact that the contest had been proven necessary, especially not when he had found out exactly how maligned his friend had been.

As abruptly as a candle being snuffed out, silence fell. Heads turned to stare and everyone shuffled aside (as much as Elves could shuffle, for even that they did with an unnatural grace), as the Lady Galadriel herself made an appearance, with Lord Celeborn at her side. They were as radiant a pair as one could ever hope to lay eyes on, the Lady more so than the Lord. It was as if the Sun itself had caught in the curls of her hair, and cast her in an ever-present gentle glow. In stately procession, they made their way to a platform overlooking the area, and everyone watched them go, save the competitors, who were locked in hushed conversation.

"Where are the targets?" Merry piped up, as soon as the buzz of conversation had resumed through the crowd. That same mischievous twinkle from earlier came back into Aragorn's eyes.

"You'll see," was all he would tell us. Infuriating man.

We did not have to wait much longer after that. Once the Lord and Lady were settled, the crowd was quickly brought to silence again by an Elf who stood on her own, at the edge of Lady Galadriel's platform, raised her hands and called out in a high clear voice.

"She is asking the competitors if they are ready to begin," Aragorn translated, keeping his own voice barely audible, so as not to distract those around us. Even so, he seemed somehow too loud in the anticipatory silence of the forest. It was as if every Elf present had suddenly held their breath to hear the competitors responses.

Legolas and the two Galadhrim took up their bows - Legolas', I noticed, was still using his own bow, even though it was shorter than those borne by the Galadhrim, and would, as far as I understood such things, not be able to shoot as far. Aragorn waved aside this concern when I voiced it, hushing me. I bristled at the reprimand, but remained silent. The three competitors called out their affirmatives, and the Elven judge signalled to someone beyond my sight.

" _Herio!_ "

Before I realised what was happening, all three Elves had nocked, drawn and loosed an arrow, aiming high above the trees. I blinked, startled, looking around wildly for their target - I was not alone in my bewilderment, for of all the Fellowship, only Frodo and Aragorn seemed to know what had just happened. Two more sets of arrows flew before Aragorn bent low to explain.

" _Ernil Legolas!_ " A faint voice called out from the other end of the arena, deep in the trees. The crowd exploded into applause.

"There are Elves in the trees, down there," Aragorn hurriedly explained, pointing in the direction the voice had come from. "The ones in the highest branches throw discs of wood as high as they can, and the archers must hit the discs. Those who arrows hit most accurately most often of three discs wins the set. The Elves who collect the discs tally it up and then call back the winner of the set - in this case, Legolas."

"An auspicious beginning then." Boromir was grinning proudly.

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "Indeed." He pointed to a spot high above the trees. "They are about to throw again, so watch carefully."

This time when the discs flew into the air and the arrows rushed from their bows, I was able to spot them - faint and blurred though they might be to my short-sighted eyes, I was still able to follow their dizzying spin and caught the faintest _thock, thock, thock,_ as the arrows hit home.

" _Corfindon!_ " The announcement echoed back to us and we of the Fellowship groaned in commiseration, loudly drowned out by the cheers of the Elves around us. Legolas did not look disappointed however, I watched as he flashed Corfindon a congratulatory smile and then turned his attention back to the sky.

Two more sets flew, won again by Corfindon and then by Galweth, much to our dismay. The Hobbits cheered Legolas on the most fiercely, and I feared their voices would be hoarse by the end of the day. Not that I refrained from booming encouragement right along side them, even if it did draw odd looks from the Elves nearby.

"How many sets will they throw?" I heard Boromir asking over the noise of the crowd as Corfindon took the third set.

"Twelve." Aragorn chuckled, as if at some private joke. "Everything Elvish comes in sixes or twelves, my friend."

Twelve sets, which meant only seven remained. _Come on, Legolas!_

Arrows flew, swift and true and blindingly fast. I was not one for archery, but I was amazed by the level of skill being put on display this day; and I had a feeling that the Elves were only just getting warmed up to the contest. No one seemed to be getting tired at least.

And then in the ninth set, there was a dreadful crack as one arrow smashed unerringly into another, sending the latter spiralling back to the ground in splinters. A groan echoed through the crowd, along with several noisy protests, Aragorn's voice loudly among them. I looked around, surprised to see more than a few angry expressions, sensing the sudden tension around us. An argument had broken out among the competitors as well.

"What happened?" Sam asked, looking as confused as I felt. "Strider?"

"An underhanded trick," Aragorn spat. "That was deliberate! Corfindon's arrow was aimed to knock Legolas' from the target, not to hit the disc at all."

A slow simmering rage began to stir deep in my gut. "Why that devious..." I looked to the judge, whose face was set in stone as she climbed down from her platform to speak to the competitors. If Legolas had been the winner of that set, it would have placed him even with Corfindon. A runner came down from the disc-throwers to take part in the deliberations, carrying the two whole arrows, and the sad splinters of the gold-fletched Mirkwood arrow.

"Corfindon will argue that it was an accident, a shift in the wind," Aragorn explained. "If she has any honour, Galweth will refute that. Of course, it is very difficult to prove either way, Legolas may lose the point regardless."

The judge turned back to the crowd and we held our breath as she made the announcement:

" _Galweth!_ "

I swore bitterly under my breath in Khazdul, quietly pleased by the ringing protests from the crowd. But the judge was not in the mood to argue as she ascended back to her platform, plainly ignoring the angry muttering among the audience. The contest resumed quickly for the final three sets, but the air of tension remained high. Corfindon remained in the lead with four points, Legolas second with three and Galweth had just claimed her second point.

We cheered ourselves hoarse as Legolas claimed both of the next two sets with an air of grim satisfaction, turning at one point to give us a little nod of gratitude. Pippin, by this point, had successfully convinced Boromir to allow him to sit up upon his broad shoulders for a better view of the arrows - Boromir had only laughed, unable to deny him anything as per usual. The other Hobbits were comporting themselves with slightly more decorum - Frodo, especially, seemed to have no trouble at all with following the lightning quick arrows.

The final arrows were drawn and flew and I held my breath, willing Mahal and all those Valar that Legolas believed in to guide his arrow true. He was in the lead, Galweth stood no chance of winning, but Corfindon's arrow could force this into a tie. The entire crowd fell silent, ears straining for the call, the announcement of the final winner.

" _Corfindon!_ "

The Fellowship's collective groan was lost among the wild applause and cheering around us. A tie! A Durin-forsaken tie! Now what?

"Will they shoot again to decide a winner?" I asked, trying to hide too much of my disappointment when Aragorn shook his head.

"No, both Legolas and Corfindon will gain a point and a half each over all, instead of two." At my baffled look, he continued with a laugh. "This is only the first challenge of the day - we have five more to go! Admittedly, the first contest gains twice as many points, because it tests their skill the most."

Because nothing was ever simple with Elves!

The rest of the day flew by as I struggled to keep up with the sheer enthusiasm of the Elves as we moved from arena to arena for each contest. Now that there was less pressure, we could relax and cheer Legolas on with slightly less urgency. No wonder the Elves had wanted to start early! At several points during the day, Aragorn vanished and reappeared bearing armloads of refreshments for us and during the breaks, Legolas came to speak with us. His eyes were bright with joy, for it seemed that little thrilled him just as much as a real archery challenge.

There was a challenge of speed, which Legolas had dominated by far, outstripping both Corfindon and Galweth by miles - the crowd had been stunned by just how quickly and accurately Legolas could decimate a standing target. The horseback challenge had gone to Galweth, as had the challenge of shooting multiple arrows at once. Corfindon, naturally, was triumphant at his ability to shoot incoming arrows out of the way. It all came down to the final challenge - one shot each, to hit one small target. It seemed easy at first, before I realised that mechanisms had been set up to create moving obstacles between the archers and the target. If they fouled their timing, they would fail the challenge. If they fouled their aim, they would fail the challenge.

Galweth stepped up to the mark first. The Lothlórien archer was skilled, it was obvious, and through-out the day she had proven herself to be generally well-meaning and fair. Legolas had informed us earlier, in an undertone, that she had fought the hardest against being allotted her second point in the first challenge, that they should have thrown the discs again, but the judge had not agreed. Overall, it seemed that Legolas held no real animosity for her, indeed, he even seemed to respect her - and she was popular with the crowd, far more so than Corfindon.

The crowd fell into respectful silence as she nocked her arrow and drew back the string, shoulders rippling with the sheer effort of the draw. It was impressive, I had to admit. Her timing would have to be very very good, if she were to win. There was a sharp _thwish_ as the green-fletched arrow left the string, hurtling blindingly fast through the obstacles.

She was _very_ good.

A solid _thunk_ heralded her success, placing her successfully in the lead once more and she turned to the crowd in delight. Although my heart had sunk into my stomach with nerves, I could not help but applaud, while the Elves around me screamed their approval of their champion. It had been an excellent shot, that much could not be denied.

Corfindon went second, and the crowd respectfully fell silent again. He nocked and drew, watching the obstacles with narrowed eyes. Aside from the foul in the first challenge, he had kept things fair from then on, but I still did not like him. Even if he won this challenge, I suspected it would not make a single difference to our Fellowship - for we would never allow him to take Legolas' place (Galweth, perhaps, if Legolas had desired to leave us, but Corfindon never).

_Thwish!_

I could not help the laugh of satisfaction that escaped me as the arrow struck the very last obstacle and went spiralling off into the trees. _It serves him right!_ Aragorn gave me a warning nudge, but the gleam of satisfaction was glittering in his eyes as well as he politely clapped for Corfindon. I shrugged, for my laugh had been mostly swallowed by the calls of commiseration from the audience.

And then finally, Legolas stepped up to the mark, his face set in concentration. Did he look tired? The day had been very long and he _had_ injured his shoulder on Caradhras not so long ago. Would that make a difference, I wondered, though I knew Aragorn had cleared him for this. But what if it had been too much strain over the day?

If he was in pain, he showed no sign of it as he set his arrow and drew, just as the others had before him. His arm was steady, I had never seen him shake. Young he might be, in terms of Elvishness, but he knew his archery, just as well as I knew my axe.

His eyes narrowed and then, as I held my breath, he loosed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, and I know it's not an update day, but it's finally here! I'm sorry!
> 
> But here it is, the long awaited contest - Legolas versus the Galadhrim, who will win? Find out in the next chapter (which will be Thursday even if I have to stay awake all night to finish it on time) and then that will be the end of the fic! Plus an epilogue, of course.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, for the comments and the kudos - you are all amazing people! Without you this fic would be moldering on my harddrive mostly unwritten. So from me to you, thank you!


	8. A Friendship Formed

There was plenty to be said about Elves, if one asked a Dwarf - that they are aloof to the point of rudeness, stiff-necked to the most stubborn of extremes, and more unyielding that the Stone from which our Dwarven forefathers were hewn. But no one, and certainly not this Dwarf, could ever argue that they did not know how to throw a party.

The celebrations marking the end of the contest and a very _very_ long day were currently taking place on one of the largest platforms that Lothlórien could boast of. The party had begun with a very short, and frankly wonderful, speech by the Lady Galadriel shortly after the sun had set, and now that the moon was high, the Elves showed no signs of stopping. Given the amount of wine that was flowing freely now, I doubted they would stop even when the sun rose again.

I lingered idly by one of the platform railings (and thank Mahal that this platform _had_ railings at all), toying with the now-empty glass in my hands. I'd restrained myself to just _one_ glass of that fancy Elf-wine, and would stick to water from now on. Aragorn was on his third already, and the Elves were delightedly cheering on Merry and Pippin as they tried to keep up with him, and Samwise groaned in despair. It was good to see Frodo smiling for a change too. Boromir, it seemed, was chatting animatedly with another group, who thankfully were amiable enough to forgive his very formal broken and butchered Sindarin - he had not studied the language since he was a boy, he'd confessed, and his brother had always been better at languages than he.

"Copper for your thoughts?" A familiar drawl startled me out of my thoughts, and Legolas' hand shot out to catch the glass that I dropped on reflex. He raised an eyebrow at me. "My apologies."

I huffed. "My thoughts are worth far more than _coppers_ , thank you very much." Legolas shrugged, but his teasing grin was plain by the lantern-light. "I'm surprised to find you alone, for every time I looked for you, you were surrounded by your now-plentiful admirers."

Legolas laughed. "I grew tired of being flattered. Besides, Galweth was more than happy to distract them for me."

Following his gaze, I could just pick out the Lothlórien archer amidst a rapt audience as she recounted her parts in the contest for what had to be the umpteenth time that night. She was certainly at home among the crowd, for there was a pleased look to her that hid no discomfort in the slightest. I looked up at Legolas, noting the soft look in his eyes, the relaxation of the tension he had been carrying since we had left Khazad-dum.

"She seems to be nice enough," I ventured hesitantly. "At least, from what I have seen. I have not actually spoken to her yet."

"Would you like to?" Legolas' keen gaze turned on me, and that fey look had returned to his eyes. There was a lot more to this than the question he had actually asked.

I shook my head. "Not just now. One Elven companion is enough for now." I smiled, trying to restrain a laugh when Legolas looked decidedly pleased by my answer. "Will you be getting to know her better?"

He paused, almost as if to consider. "I think not. At least, not now. The Fellowship will be moving on soon. But after the Quest, I would like to be her friend."

"Just her friend?" The wine prompted me to ask. Perhaps I should not have had that Elf-wine.

"Just her friend." Legolas sighed, leaning against the railing, the wind just stirring his blond hair, shaking it loose from the simple tail he had tied it in for the contest. "I desire nothing more than that from Galweth."

There was something in his tone that, politely but firmly, insisted that I drop this line of questioning right now, or find myself short one Elven companion after all.

"I have not seen your other competitor, Corfindon, since the contest ended," I tried again. Legolas gave a small laugh.

"He is elsewhere." Legolas waved a hand vaguely, setting the glass to one side. "He felt he had no place at the celebration, and some of his friends have gone to keep him in good spirits. His pride is wounded, but that is a little thing. He will have many chances to prove himself before the war is over, or so the Lady Galadriel has said."

"The Lady Galadriel?" I could not help the cheerful note that crept into my voice. Bah! I was acting like a child with a crush! But there was something about her that I found to be more fair than anything I had ever encountered before - there was a strength to her spirit, I sensed, that could rival that of any Dwarf, but she was also wise and kind, the words she had shared with me on our first night in Lothlórien would remain with me forever. It was something I had never thought I'd hear from an Elf, the shared grief for a lost Dwarven land and Dwarven lives, the familiar edges of Khazdul words coming from a too-soft Elven voice. She was special, to me at least, because I knew that here was an Elf that had taken the time to truly understand and befriend my kind.

Something I had always been told was impossible.

And yet, was I not standing here in an Elvish land, with an Elf by my side, whom I would happily call friend? Perhaps one day, we would stand in a Dwarven kingdom together too, one that was not empty and dead and corrupted. It was not so impossible a mental image as I'd once thought - though trying to imagine Legolas, tall as he was, stooping through the Dwarven sized quarters was certainly amusing.

Legolas grinned, perhaps recognising that my thoughts had wandered slightly. "Yes, the Lady Galadriel," he teased. "She thinks that we, the Fellowship, will be leaving her land soon. The day after tomorrow, she told me. She also," and here Legolas' grin became impish, "passed on her congratulations for my ability to elude the Lord Celeborn all night. It seems he has been wanting to speak to me alone since the contest ended, and yet, can never seem to find me without company."

"I see, you're just using me," I mock-accused, allowing fake-hurt to spread across my face. "I am wounded, Legolas. I thought I meant more to you than that."

Legolas gave a sniff, looking down his nose at me in what I could only guess was his best imitation of his father, judging by what I'd heard of Thranduil. "A Prince uses everyone, even if their uses are few." His voice was different too, all snooty and haughty and pointedly ridiculous. I could not help it, I doubled over, laughing. This was more amusing than when he'd imitated a squirrel.

This time, at least, Legolas laughed as well, his Princely mask cracking as he failed to hold back his mirth. It was loud and noisy and drew more than a few stares, including my own. I had never seen him laugh like this, not even when he'd been drinking - although, that was a point, just how much had he had to drink before he'd come to see me?

"Oh _Rodyn_ ," Legolas hissed, grabbing my wrist tightly. I blinked at him in surprise, his mirth was gone as quickly as it had come. "I see Celeborn coming this way, and I have no desire to be cornered again. _Come on!_ "

I laughed, allowing myself to be pulled along. We moved swiftly through the crowd, Legolas muttering apologies left and right as we knocked more than a few elbows - but surprisingly, no one seemed terribly annoyed. Indeed, there were more than a few amused smiles and a despairing look from Aragorn as we rushed past him. But he did not attempt to stop us, no one did.

Well except when I realised where Legolas was leading me, wherein I dug my heels in and brought us to a resounding halt. "Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?"

Legolas blinked, startled, looking back at me from the branch he was now standing on, leaving me at the edge of the platform. "Come now, Gimli. It is the quickest way down."

I hesitated, trying not to pay too much attention to my sudden realisation that we were very very high off the ground. "Dwarves are not made for running on tree branches, you dratted Elf!"

"Why not?" His head tilted, birdlike, in curiosity. "The bridges in Khazad-dum were not so different."

"Those were stone!" I protested, even as my mind slowly caught up to what he had said. _Khazad-dum._ He hadn't called it Moria, he'd called it by its proper Dwarven name. His pronunciation was just slightly off, the lilt of an Elven voice caused him to stress the syllables in all the wrong places. But it was a greater attempt than I'd ever expected.

He held out his hand to me, his expression honest, earnest and sincere. "I will not let you fall, _mellon nin_. Trust me."

Oh I had to be the most foolhardy Dwarf in all of Creation, the most foolish that ever was or ever would be, and yet I took his hand regardless, and stepped out onto the branch. "If I fall, I shall expect recompense," I warned him under my breath. Legolas' only response was a delighted laugh as he led me along the sturdy branch and down into the forest. It was the oddest thing I had ever done, for more than once I could have sworn I saw the branches ahead of us bend and move to where we needed them to be. But such things were not possible; were they?

Once safely on the forest floor, we ran more freely but not terribly fast. In truth, I think Legolas was more tired than he cared to admit. It did not, however, take us long to end up by that spot by the river, that by now I had come to think of as _our_ spot; although we did take a small detour for Legolas to pick up what remained of that First Age wine he had hidden.

We settled down on the grass, heedless of the chill in the air and the mist that lay over the river. The moon was shining full and fat above us, gleaming proudly amid a sea of stars. It was a proper Elvish night, the kind they most adored. I had to admit I had a certain fondness now for them as well.

Legolas pulled at the tie in his hair, letting the silver-blond strands fall free about his shoulders once more. "That is much better," he sighed. I suspected he was talking about more than just his hair though. It was pleasant, being away from the noise of the party, though not so terribly far than we could not still hear them, apparently.

"So you will be staying with the Fellowship when we depart?" I asked. It was an impulsive question, one that I already knew the answer to, but I found that I would much rather hear it from him again. Legolas gave me a knowing look.

"Of course, _mellon nin_. As I have said, I have no desire to leave the Fellowship and I have my orders." His hand drifted to his tunic, where I knew, more from intuition than knowledge, that the letters from his family were hidden. "I should not disobey my King after all."

This was not going well at all. The pensive look had returned to Legolas' face, and the fey light of his eyes had faded. Something else then. And yet...

"What happened?" I asked, as carefully and as gently as I could muster. "Between you and your brother? I know you do not like to speak of your family, but I would listen, if you wished to speak of them."

Legolas sighed, uncorking the wine bottle. "I am not nearly drunk enough for such a conversation," he muttered, but did not drink. Instead he sat the wine to one side, and stared up at the stars. He was silent for so long, I began to think perhaps that he had forgotten my question, or had even forgotten that I was here. But some deep instinct warned me not to interrupt, and so I did not.

"He lied to me," he finally said, his voice breaking. I did not have to look to know that his eyes were likely glimmering already with tears. "He lied to me about many things, and betrayed the trust I held for him. Among Elves, the bond between kin is...there is no word in this language. There was no reason for him to lie, and yet he did so, for many years. I never thought to question it and he took advantage of that."

"What did he lie about?" I pressed, even knowing that I was treading on thin ice by asking. Legolas shook his head sharply.

"It is a long story, my friend, and one that I cannot share with you now. Please do not ask me again." An edge crept into his voice as he fought to compose himself. "Please, let us speak of something else."

 _Ah Mahal_. This Elf was going to be the death of me, I just knew it. "Very well," I said, forcing my voice to a more cheerful tone. He was going to kill me for what I was going to say next. It would be worth it, provided that it made him laugh first.

_"I still cannot believe that you lost."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Almost done, folks! Just a very short epilogue to go to wrap things - thank you all for your support!


	9. Epilogue - A Gift Beyond Measure

I stared down at the trio of boats, bobbing gently on the river's current, quite certain that somewhere Mahal was laughing at me. _Boats_. We were leaving Lothlórien by _boat_. Of all the ways we could have gone, on our own two feet as we had come, perhaps? But no. I was going to strangle Aragorn the very second that I saw him - he'd certainly by this point sunk low enough for me to reach. Alas that Celeborn had pulled him away for a private conversation.

"Try not to look so grim, _mellon nin_ ," Legolas teased. He was kneeling in the boat that we were to share downriver, organising our packs as best he could in the small space. He held out a hand to me, grinning. "We could always arrange for a barrel for you instead."

I threw one of the wrapped blocks of lembas at him, growling when he caught it with a laugh and a "Thank you, _mellon nin_!" Forget Aragorn, I was going to strangle this blasted Elf first, consequences and fellowship be _damned_. Must it always be the fate of the line of Durin to leave Elven lands by their rivers?

"Are you two fighting again?" Boromir called from where he, Merry and Pippin were busy packing their boat with, admittedly, considerably less throwing.

"Of course not!" Legolas called back, at the exact moment I said:

"I am considering drowning him."

Legolas and I stared at each other for a moment before Legolas' mask cracked and he gave a decidedly unprincely snort. "I would like to see you try."

"Get out of the boat then."

"Make me." His eyes flashed with impish glee and the urge to strangle him increased ten-fold. I took a deep breath, urging myself back to calm. I am a Dwarf of the House of Durin, I reminded myself sternly. I am above such pettiness, even if _he_ is not.

"Pardon me for interrupting," a new voice said, and I turned to see Galweth, the winner of the archery contest emerge from the trees. I had never seen her up-close before, and I had to admit she was fair to look upon - if not as much as the Lady Galadriel, but that was an impossible standard to hold any other Elf to. Galweth was not as slender and slight-looking as I'd been led to believe all Elves were; she was broad across the shoulder, with strong toned arms, and a powerful build. This was an Elf built to be an archer, I could tell, though her stance reminded me more of a Dwarf.

Legolas all but tripped over himself climbing out of the boat. "Lady Galweth," he eventually managed, without a trace of awkwardness. "How can we help you?"

Galweth smiled at him, her dark brown eyes sparkling with mirth. "I came to bid the Fellowship farewell. I heard you were leaving on the morrow." Her Westron was heavily accented and stiff, but the fact that she spoke it at all was, by my estimation, a miracle in Lothlórien.

Legolas nodded. "We are, indeed. Permit me to introduce my companions?" Galweth nodded and murmured greetings to each of us as Legolas went round our small group, naming names. At Frodo, Galweth paused, her expression very serious as she stared at him, until Legolas snapped something harsh in Sindarin and she jumped, rapidly chattering out apologies. Frodo managed to smile back at her, but the sad dark look never left his eyes - I would need to be sure and keep a closer eye on him. I had been so wrapped up in my own issues with Legolas that I'd nearly forgotten my promise to my father and Bilbo that I would protect Frodo as best I could. Ever since Khazad-dum, I had not seen Frodo smile truly, not even among the other Hobbits.

"So this is the Dwarf everyone speaks of," Galweth said, looking down at me. There was something off about her tone, something condescending that I did not appreciate. Legolas shot me a warning look as I bristled.

"Oh?" I said, keeping my tone deliberately casual. "What do they say?"

"Many things." She smiled again. "Mostly they say that you must be special indeed, for _Ernil_ Legolas to have so fought so hard to stay with you."

"It was not just for Gimli's sake," Legolas interjected, looking very uncomfortable.

"I know that; others are not so convinced." She looked me up and down, her gaze suddenly ancient and piercing. "You are of Erebor, are you not?" She smiled when I nodded. "I thought so. And what thought you of the _Hadhodrond_?"

"Khazad-dum," Legolas explained at my blank look. "She means Khazad-dum."

I struggled to find my voice, feeling pinned by the force of her eyes. "It was beautiful, and very great," I said, hearing my words crack as loss surged in my throat, hard and hot. "I regret that it stands empty and defiled, but it was not worth so many lives to keep it." I thought of the skeletons lying forgotten in the dust, the broken crystal lamps, carvings smashed to ruins, all that was once magnificent lost to the darkness. I thought of the more recent bodies, of the tomb of Balin who had been friend and mentor both, of the bodies of Ori and my own uncle Óin, who would never receive proper burials and be returned to the Stone as is right. I wrestled with my grief, trying to force it back down. I would not _embarrass_ myself now, not in front of the Company and a stranger.

"When I was younger, I went often-times to _Hadhodrond_ ," Galweth explained, kneeling before me. "There I met Dwarves for the first time in my life, and there I was welcomed as a friend. I had one friend in particular, who I counted closest above all. It was she who taught me this language, and I named her Elf-friend in return. Her name was Svior." Galweth's handsome face crumpled for a moment and I saw the depths of grief that echoed my own. "Forgive me. I do not know if she still lives, or what became of her and her family. But one of the last times I saw her, she gave me a gift." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wrapped package. "I have kept it for many many years, remembering my friend and the fellowship that once existed between our kinds." She looked between Legolas and myself and pressed the package into my hands. She cut off my protests and stood with a sigh.

"Truly, I had no desire to join this Fellowship," she explained with a small sad smile. "I took part in your contest only to see for myself an Elf fight to be allowed a friendship with a Dwarf once more. I am reassured. I wish you luck on your Quest." She bowed respectfully to our dumbstruck Fellowship, grasped Legolas' upper arm and whispered something in Elvish to him and then was gone.

"Well, that was certainly something," Boromir broke the silence, his heavy hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

"I'll say," I muttered, staring wide-eyed at the package in my hands. What did it mean? What had I entered into by accepting it? Not that Galweth had left me much of a choice. But was I now beholden to her? Did I owe her a debt? I looked to Legolas for an explanation, any explanation at all.

"It was a gift, freely given," Legolas said, and though he smiled, his gaze was sharp and serious. "That is all, I assure you. I would not have let her give it, otherwise."

I nodded, feeling a knot of tension loosen in my chest. Nothing malicious meant, no, of course not. But, still I couldn't help remembering the warnings my father and mentors had drilled into me from childhood - a gift from an Elf is always fraught with meaning. They will use anything to trip you into owing them. Do not trust them.

"Well, Gimli," Frodo said, looking over my shoulder with those sombre blue eyes. "Are you going to open it?"

"I suppose I'd better," I said, my tone more jovial than I felt. With the utmost care, I unwrapped them small package and could not help the small gasp of surprise. Inside the wrappings was a locket, small and laced with silver around the frame; I had seen the like many times before at home, for they were often gifts given between close friends and kin. My father had one with illustrations of my mother and myself inside. Gently, I prised it open, and was not surprised to find it empty - but I had no doubt that something had once nestled within it. On the back, however, I could feel the old runes engraved there - runes of friendship and solidarity, of the love between those sworn to defend each other in battle. As my fingers traced them, I could feel tears prickling hot at the corners of my eyes. This was not a gift lightly given, nor should it be given away like some common trinket.

"It is beautiful," Legolas remarked softly, and the others agreed, their expressions ranging from stunned to awed.

"She should not have given me this." I hurriedly wrapped it again and thrust it towards to Legolas. "You must return it to her. This--it is too precious to be given to a stranger."

Legolas shook his head, pushing it back towards to me. "Galweth knew what she was giving you, my friend. She is older and wiser than both of us; if she felt this was appropriate to give to you, then it would be rude to return it."

I scowled at him and felt the tension gather in the air, as sudden as a summer storm in the mountains. Boromir chuckled awkwardly.

"Perhaps we should continue to pack, hm?" he said, more to the Hobbits than myself or Legolas. "Come along, before Aragorn returns to scold us for being lazy."

I grit my teeth, biting back harsher comments until the others had moved sensibly away. "You don't understand. This was made _for her_. I cannot accept it."

But Legolas would not budge. I knew we were causing a scene, again, but it was imperative that I make him _understand_. "Gimli, she would not take it back, even if I tried to make her. The locket, surely that is not as important as what was inside? The locket is just the case, the contents were another matter entirely. Galweth has waited a long time for this, I think."

I paused, looking up at him, seeing that strange fey expression creeping onto his face. He was right, of course, as he so often was when he was in these moods. It was infuriating and frustrating, but I knew he spoke truly. I sighed, looking down at the locket again. "I won't wear it," I said stubbornly. I would keep it, in the spirit of what was meant, but nothing would convince me to break faith and wear something not intended for me.

Legolas shrugged. "That is your choice, just as it was Galweth's to give it to you."

He watched as I tucked the wrapped locket into my breast pocket. And then, as suddenly as it had come, the tension between us fled. We might be friends now, but we were still getting used to each other's tempers - it would take time, time we perhaps did not have, before our friendship could be considered stable.

But I was patient, I could wait for that. Something deep in my spirit told me that this would be worth it.

Legolas clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, mischievous and bright, his mood as mercurial as ever. "Come, friend Gimli. We'd best return to packing also, unless you wish to be yelled at by Aragorn. No doubt he will not be in the best of moods after so long speaking with Lord Celeborn."

I snorted, but could not help but agree. "True enough, lazy Elf. Let's go. I want to be finished before Boromir, else he'll be unbearable the whole way downriver."

I dodged Legolas' faux-offended swat and grinned at Boromir's indignant shout that he would have his boat packed _and_ Aragorn's as well at the rate we were going. "That sounds like a challenge," I remarked to Legolas, watching his eyes light up.

"Well then," he answered. "I suppose the only thing to do is to show him up."

My grin stretched wider. "Exactly what I was thinking, my friend."

I could already tell this friendship would _definitely_ be worth being patient for. It might be a trial at times, but weren't all friendships? Legolas was daft as a rabbit, ever distractible and secretive to boot, but still I now couldn't help but already regret the day when we would eventually part. But that was a thought for later. Right now, we still had a long trip downriver to go, and the rest of the Quest as well.

I might very well change my mind, but somehow, I doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue I said, coming soon I said. I'm terrible, it would have been sooner if I wasn't such a perfectionist, I swear, and I'm so sorry you all had to wait so long. Real life is currently a btit of a Mess so I have very little writing time. But its here now, and I have time to get more chapters written now, woo. 
> 
> But alas, this marks the End of Trial By Patience! Thank you all who have read along, who are still reading this message, who have left comments or favourited it, because you are all the best people ever. This would not have gotten finished without you. There's at least one more story planned for the Trials series (which apparently I've since forgotten the WIP title for). For those of you still wondering what exactly happened between Legolas and his older brother (since I've had a few people ask), I'm a terrible person and I'm going to direct you to my other fic Fragments of A Forgotten Truth, where all will be revealed... (eventually). But if you're signing off here and have no interest in my other fics, then thank you anyway! You're still great.
> 
> Honestly I should get a blog or something so that people can drop me fic ideas, I do love chatting to you all.


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